Harry Potter and the Prince of Nightmares
by Ethidda
Summary: Draco Malfoy must take a mate in order to ascend to the throne as the Prince of Nightmares. The only choices he has, though, are Voldemort, Dumbledore, and Harry Potter, which really isn't a choice at all. HPDM slash.
1. Ascension

**Disclaimer: **Of course the Harry Potter world isn't entirely mine. Neither are the characters. But I am proud to claim that the Nightmares are all mine... the plot is mine, mostly, but of course inspired from the hundreds of fanfics that I have read... and my dislike of the way the sixth book turned out.

**Author's Note: **I was going to give my story the same title as the sixth book, because the idea was sparked from that, but I decided that would be too... something. Hope you enjoy the story!

Also, big thanks to Ashley for beta-ing for me.

**Chapter One – Ascension**

"The young Prince cannot ascend to the throne," Damien Typhulus objected.

Lucius Malfoy narrowed his gray eyes. Typhulus was a Death-Eater, but unlike Lucius, who joined the Death-Eaters to know the wizarding power balance better, Typhulus spied on the Nightmares for his Dark Lord. Honestly, Lucius didn't know why Typhulus was still on the High Council.

"Draco Malfoy is of age," Lucius argued.

"Young Prince may have the years," Typhulus countered readily. "But he does not have the power."

It was true that in dire circumstances, the High Council could choose a substitute Prince if the prophesized one lacked either the power or the maturity to lead. It was an obscure law, though, and Lucius couldn't remember the last time the law had been invoked.

Lucius asked calmly, his voice betraying none of his cold anger, "What would you consider adequate for the current circumstances, Typhulus?"

Typhulus drew himself taller under his High Councilor robe, pristine white with elaborate gold ornamentation at the edges. "Draco Malfoy needs to take a mate," he declared boldly.

The shocked silence that followed lasted only a moment before the council room buzzed with murmurs and whispers. Their last Prince had chosen to descend recently, and Draco Malfoy had been prophesized as their next Prince since hundreds of years ago. While it was true that taking a mate could augment Draco's magical abilities, Draco was already very powerful in his own right at age sixteen.

After a while, one High Councilor finally asked from the shadows of the hood of his robe, "Why?" Andé Cray was a thorough thinker, well known for his slow but logical mind.

"It's obvious," Typhulus answered. Lucius saw Cray tighten his pale lips under the shadows of his white and gold hood, offended. "If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named chooses to attack our Prince, our Prince should have—needs to have enough power to defend himself."

"Why?" Cray asked again.

"Because," Typhulus answered with a note of irritation creeping into his voice. "The very stability of our society depends on our Prince."

Cray shook his head slowly. "I mean why would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attack us?"

"Because..." Cray's question gave Typhulus pause, as if he needed to prepare what to say next. "If we do not cooperate with him, of course he would attack us."

Cray frowned thoughtfully. "Do you _know_ that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is going to ask for our cooperation?"

"Of course I don't know any more than you do," Typhulus answered quickly. Too quickly, Lucius thought. "I can only assume."

"You know what they say about assuming..." Cray trailed off as the High Council waited to hear how he would continue. Even if roundabout was fair play, few people would side with Lucius just to make an enemy of Typhulus. On the other hand, it would have been even more unusual if Cray had taken Typhulus's insult silently. Nightmares were known for their penchant for revenge, even rivaling that of Veela's. "Then why does our new Prince need to have so much power?"

"Just in case!" Typhulus shouted, his face red from agitation. He seemed to realize the inappropriateness of his outburst then and said, in a quieter voice, "We would do well to be prepared. These are turbulent times."

This gained some nods from around the High Council, Lucius saw as he scanned the room. As soon as his gray gaze landed on the High Councilors, though, they stopped nodding. At least they still feared him, Lucius thought in grim satisfaction.

"Oh, I see," Cray said, finally appearing to understand.

Lucius looked at Typhulus from under his own gold and white hood, "What do you propose then?"

"I propose," Typhulus began. Lucius swore Typhulus smacked his papery lips together in eagerness. "That we elect a substitute Prince until the young Prince chooses a mate."

"_La loi ancienne_," Lucius stated blandly.

Typhulus only hesitated for a second before nodding.

This time, Lucius smiled, showing all his aristocratic teeth. "Then, Draco Malfoy has ninety days from today to comply with your requirement before a substitute Prince is chosen to ascend to the throne."

Typhulus opened his mouth to object, but he realized the futility of denial. If Typhulus were to use an ancient law, he couldn't use only parts of it. It would make his traitorous plans too obvious. Instead, he croaked, "Yes." His Lord was not going to be happy at this development.

As the head of the High Council, Saybran rang the bell quickly. "The High Council will re-adjourn in ninety days to agree on this matter," he announced.

Like most of the High Council, Saybran had left the discussion between Malfoy and Typhulus, knowing that most likely, any additional arguments would be futile. Besides, even if Cray was courageous enough to brave the anger of Typhulus, the rest of the High Councilor thought it would be more prudent to simply leave the argument to Typhulus and Malfoy.

Typhulus shot Lucius a very dirty look as they both left the High Council Chamber.

* * *

Draco jumped up from the plush chair in his father's study. His un-gelled hair flew in every direction as his pale eyes widened. 

"What?" he asked, incredulous. "I have to mate within ninety days?"

Lucius only nodded grimly.

Draco paced his father's study, from the door to his father's desk and back to the door. They were fifteen steps apart. "But there are only so many people out there who are powerful enough that my own power would be augmented by mating with them. I can't find one whom I like in ninety days. I start school in a week!" 

"You won't have to look for a mate elsewhere," Lucius corrected evenly. "There are only three people powerful enough for you: Dumbledore, Riddle, and Potter."

"We've talked about this before, father." Draco paused in his pacing and made a face of disgust. He ticked off his choices on his fingers as he summarized, "Dumbledore is too old and too willing to sacrifice me to the war. Riddle is too grotesque and too willing to sacrifice me to the war. Potter is the one person who hates me and too willing to get rid of me in any way possible."

"I suppose you must mate with Potter, then," Lucius stated simply.

Draco glared at his father and resumed his pacing. "Didn't you just hear what I said?"

"I don't think you understand," Lucius rebuked sharply. "As Prince, you are meant to lead all of us. But if you give up your place just because of a petty grudge, all of us are going to be used by Riddle."

Draco stopped again and looked at his father. "Potter would never agree anyways."

Lucius raised one pale, elegant eyebrow and smirked. "This is where that old fool Dumbledore becomes useful."

* * *

Harry stared at the ceiling of Dudley's second bedroom. Although he had given up trying to know the news—Voldemort now attacked once or twice a week—he was still anxious about the war. 

He was wasting time, Harry thought furiously, as the cloud outside cast shadows on the walls. At least the window wasn't barred this summer.

Harry could be training his spell-casting skills... learning occlumency... practicing hand to hand combat... But all he really could do was sitting there and staring at the pasty, peeling ceiling as Voldemort gathered more and more followers.

Harry turned to look out the window, but there were no owls. Of course, Hermione and Ron had just owled yesterday, and they would be busy at Diagon Alley today.

Dumbledore had owled Harry a few days ago, telling Harry that Dumbledore would acquire all the necessary school supplies for Harry. Harry understood Dumbledore wanting to keep Harry safe, but really, must Dumbledore deprive him of even the small joy of a day away from the Dursleys?

Harry wished Dumbledore would say more about Voldemort, too. He knew that Voldemort had become allies with Dementors and Vampires last year, but Harry didn't know much more than that. Had Voldemort acquired even more allies over the summer? He certainly hoped not.

On the Order's side, though, there were no allies of other species. Harry thought grimly that at least centaurs were too proud and aloof to join Voldemort and the werewolves were too disorganized. But he still worried that the Order was mostly humans who fought against immoral, deadly, and sometimes rather inhuman beings.

Harry heard a tap on the window and focused his gaze on the meticulous backyard. He had weeded it just this morning. On the windowsill, an owl caught his eye. It wasn't an owl Harry recognized and looked rather like the indistinguishable school owls, but he thought he would be glad to hear from anybody in the magical community.

Eagerly, Harry took the message and fed the owl one of Hedwig's treats before closing the window again behind the owl.

The note read:

_Harry,_

_Something has come up. I'm afraid I need you to come to Hogwarts immediately. Included is a portkey to see me whenever you are ready._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

For a moment, Harry just stared at the message in incomprehension. Then, a box of chocolate frogs fell out from the message somehow. This was the portkey, Harry thought, and was prompted into action.

Harry didn't own much and unpacked even less at his cousin's home. Quickly, he stuffed it all haphazardly into his trunk. The immediacy of Dumbledore's message had left him worrying about what could be so important. Did the Order just figure out a plan of Voldemort's and wanted to put Harry in a more secure place? They always seemed to want Harry out of the picture when they fought Harry's mortal enemy.

Did Dumbledore want Harry at Hogwarts for some extra training? Harry thought that even if it was only a week early, Harry would still be glad for the training, but it seemed unlikely that Dumbledore would have such a sudden change of mind.

Or worse, did someone from the Order get seriously hurt while Harry was busy staring at the ceiling? Well, the Order shouldn't be fighting Voldemort without Harry. Harry didn't want to fight in the war, but he thought that it had all been prophesized. There was little point for them to try to exclude Harry from the war, since his fate seemed to have already been decided.

Finally, Harry let Hedwig out the window. He held onto his trunk and Hedwig's cage awkwardly in one hand and grabbed the box of chocolate frogs with the other hand.

Uncle Vernon would be mad after he found out about him leaving, Harry thought gleefully as he felt the ground drop from beneath his feet. It was too bad Harry wouldn't be there to see Vernon's expression of outrage.

* * *

When Dumbledore had said that the portkey would take Harry to see Dumbledore, Dumbledore was absolutely serious. Harry found himself stumbling in Dumbledore's office, Hedwig's empty cage falling off his trunk and tumbling loudly onto the floor. 

Harry glanced around the office momentarily, completely disoriented. He recognized the bright red bird, Fawkes, and saw Dumbledore next, watching Harry from behind half-moon glasses.

"Headmaster," Harry remembered to say and realized that he was in the headmaster's office.

"Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I wasn't sure how long you would need to pack, so I thought to portkey you straight to my office."

Harry nodded along. Then, he asked suddenly, "What's wrong?"

Dumbledore tilted his head a little, looking puzzled. Then, his gaze cleared and he chuckled. "Nothing's wrong, Harry, but you need to make a decision in"—Dumbledore glanced at the clock—"about ten hours."

Harry frowned. "What decision?" Decisions that were Harry's to make were few and far between. At least, it felt that way to Harry.

"A very important decision." Dumbledore took out a package of lemon drops. "Would you care for one?"

When Harry shook his head, Dumbledore took one yellow candy himself and put away the package carefully before continuing. "The Prince of Nightmares needs something from you to ascend to the throne. In return, he has promised to help the Order against Voldemort."

Harry frowned again, this time in puzzlement. "Have we covered Nightmares in our DADA class?"

"No, you have not," Dumbledore answered gravely. "Nor will you."

"Oh." Harry kept his puzzled frown, but decided that any studying he would do in the future would not help him now anyhow. He decided not to ask the obvious question as to why Nightmares wouldn't even be mentioned in DADA class. What he needed now was practical information. "How can they help us?"

Dumbledore steeped his hands and leaned back in his plush chair. "They can probably share their spies," Dumbledore began. "They are a very tight-knit community, and are incredible reserves of energy since they can all pull on each other's."

At Harry's nod of understanding, Dumbledore continued, "Their most unique ability, though, is their ability to heal all those who are not dead, including mental imbalances. They have agreed to heal as many of the order members as they can, as long as the injury was sustained because of a Death-Eater."

Harry bit his lip. "That seems impossible."

"But it is not." Dumbledore focused his gaze on something far away. "Magic is slow and draining, but it can be quite powerful. And Nightmares are powerful. I'm not sure of exactly how to explain it to you, but their magic compared to ours is like our magic compared to muggles'."

"But muggles have no magic."

Dumbledore nodded. "Exactly."

"Then why would they want an alliance with wizards in the first place?" Then, Harry added almost bitterly, "Or ally themselves with Voldemort?"

Dumbledore only shook his head. "I don't know. It's Nightmare politics."

Harry paused at this, not knowing what to say. The mere fact that Dumbledore admitted to not knowing—not even guessing at—something made these Nightmares sound huge and frightening and larger than life.

Reluctantly, Harry admitted, "They sound like they could really help." Even if he had his reservations, he was impressed. Although the Avada Kedavra curse cannot be undone, Harry was not ignorant of the rescued Order members who had often been tortured for information. Neville's parents were some whom these Nightmares could help.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "But they are not asking for a mere pittance, either."

"Just give it to them," Harry said easily. He couldn't imagine owning anything worth more than the lives, health, and sanity of people, even if it was something as precious as Hedwig. "You're talking about possibly saving tens—or even hundreds of lives."

"Harry..." Dumbledore frowned at Harry's easy agreement to half of a contract. Of course, most would explain it as a Gryffindor tendency, but Dumbledore worried that Harry's recklessness would lead him to ruin. "You don't know what they ask for yet."

"Something from me, right?" Harry confirmed.

"Not exactly," Dumbledore hedged, even if that was what he had told Harry just minutes ago.

Harry scrunched up his browns, confused again. "If I can give it, I would, but if they ask me to hurt other people..."

"No, no," Dumbledore interjected quickly. Then, he said in a quiet voice, "They ask for you."

There was a moment of silence.

Then, "What?" Harry's green eyes revealed his complete incomprehension.

"Each Nightmare takes a wizard or a witch as a mate. This way, the Nightmare can draw on the wizard's or witch's magical powers," Dumbledore tried to explain. He sighed. Even Dumbledore had been taught that Nightmares were extinct, but at least he had been taught. Although he didn't agree with it, Dumbledore still had to abide by the Ministry's ridiculous ban of all materials concerning Nightmares. "The prince needs to mate with somebody powerful enough for him to ascend the throne."

"Mate?" Harry repeated stupidly. "Magical powers? Prince?"

Dumbledore sighed. Despite how much this alliance would help the Order, Dumbledore refused to pressure Harry into a decision. In this case, the decision really wasn't Dumbledore's to make at all. "Don't say yes unless you are positive about it."

"They want me for my magical abilities?" Harry reiterated.

"Not 'they,'" Dumbledore corrected. "But yes, the Prince is interested in your magical abilities."

Harry thought about that for a moment. Since he had arrived in the magical community, everybody had always known him and recognized him for his magical abilities. Why should this 'Prince' person be any different?

Finally, Harry asked, "Do I know this 'Prince'?"

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid the prince has asked me to keep him anonymous before you make your decision."

"Anonymous?" Harry exclaimed, the question clear in his voice.

"Maybe he wants you to decide on principle," Dumbledore tried to explain.

"'Principle.'" Harry laughed bitterly. He was supposed decide if he would mate with some non-human being, and all they wanted was for Harry to decide on principle.

Harry had thought that once he came to the wizarding world, people would see beyond just the surface. At the Dursley's, all he was a 'freak cousin' and here, he was just the 'great celebrity.' The impersonal feelings remained impersonal.

Harry interpreted for Dumbledore, "He wants to know if I'm willing to sacrifice myself to save countless others."

"It's only my conjecture," Dumbledore said in a failed attempt to soothe Harry.

"Well..." Harry's face seemed determined. "Of course—"

"Don't say anything until you are sure," Dumbledore interrupted. "The magical contract hears everything said in this room."

Harry looked at the innocuous-looking paper sitting on the desk, to which Dumbledore was referring to. "It's a contract, right?" At Dumbledore's nod, he continued, "And they have to abide by it too, right?"

Dumbledore nodded again. "Of course."

Harry took a deep breath before saying quickly and quietly, "I'll do it."

Both Harry and Dumbledore felt the air change subtly in the room, a sort of whirlpool of energy coalescing at the piece of paper. Almost as soon as it started, it stopped.

Instead of being happy or relieved, though, Dumbledore sighed. He looked at Harry carefully. "I hope you are making the right decision, especially for yourself."


	2. Realization

**Chapter Two – Realization**

"We were so worried when we didn't see you on the train," Hermione exclaimed as she engulfed Harry in a bear hug. "We thought your horrible uncle wouldn't let you leave or something."

"Ha, as if they want me there." Harry replied caustically from the fluffy red chair in the Gryffindor common room.

"You should have come to the Burrow," Ron said. "Even if it was just for the week before school."

"Actually," Harry confessed. "I couldn't go because I've been at Hogwarts for the past week."

Ever the sharp one, Hermione asked, "Did Dumbledore ask you to come?"

Harry nodded grimly, not really wanting to think about the deal he had agreed to, but finding that he needed to think about it. Hell, he didn't even know what Nightmares were!

"What for?" Ron prodded.

Harry shrugged. He figured he could put off thinking about the whole Prince of Nightmare business until they had settled into their classes, at least.

"Oooh," Hermione cooed, in a voice scarily like when other girls stumbled upon a good-looking specimen of the male species, except Hermione only used this voice when she had a revelation. She looked around the common room and made sure it was empty except for the three of them. All the other Gryffindors were still busy unpacking.

Hermione whispered, "Is it Order business?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the usually comfortable chair. Even if Dumbledore hadn't specifically instructed Harry to keep the alliance a secret, Harry wasn't about to announce it to the world. Besides, Harry wasn't sure how they would react.

"Well?" Hermione prompted.

At that moment, though, Seamus came down to the common room with Lavender.

"I'll see you in the library after the feast," Hermione said quickly, giving both Ron and Harry significant looks, which the boys knew would bring even more trouble if avoided.

Harry didn't think that Seamus noticed their sudden silence, but just for good measure, he said, "I hear Professor Snape is teaching DADA this year."

"Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, scandalized.

"That's good," Ron muttered.

Hermione glared at Ron. "What's good about that?"

"Well, that means it's the last year we'll have to endure having him around. The DADA position is cursed."

"That's true," Harry agreed wholeheartedly, despite his doubts of Professor Snape. Nobody could honestly blame Harry for his distrust of the Head of Slytherin after all the years of Snape's obvious prejudice against Harry.

"Yes, but won't Professor Snape get... tempted by the Dark Arts?" Hermione asked logically. She knew many things, but she never quite learned the things not to say around Ron. When both boys shrugged, she added, almost petulantly, "Besides, he was a good Potions Professor."

* * *

"Aww..." 

Harry and Ron winced as they heard Lavender squeal right next to them. They could only marvel that somehow, even though Neville right across from Lavender, Neville seemed able to completely ignore her eardrum-shattering squeal.

To the other side of Ron, Hermione 'hmm'-ed disinterestedly before taking a bite of the absolutely delicious turkey with gravy and going back to reading _Dark Lords and Their Rises_.

Lavender, though, took this as an invitation to continue. "Just look at him," she gushed. She put her fork down to start gesturing with her hands. "The hair, the eyes, the face, the build..." She sighed dreamily, much to the horrors of the boys around her. "He's perfect."

Across from Harry, Ginny rolled her eyes. "You say this every year."

"Uh-uh," Parvati managed with a mouthful of the turkey. It had looked too delicious for her to avoid, and she figured she could always diet later.

Parvati swallowed the turkey quickly and started gesticulating with Lavender. "Before, he was good-looking," Parvati explained. "But now, he's _good-looking_."

"Right," Hermione muttered between bites of mashed potatoes and reading her book.

Down the table, somebody was telling a newly sorted first year girl, "He's very good looking, but he is an absolute git. Besides, he's engaged to the Parkinson pug."

"There," Ginny agreed whole-heartedly.

Lavender finished her bite of turkey. "Yes, but he might still get first on Hogwarts' eligible bachelor."

"He's engaged," Ginny repeated what the other Gryffindor said.

Lavender pursed her lips. "It's only a rumor."

"It doesn't matter," Parvati waved it off. "I doubt anybody would want to marry that pug."

Lavender nodded, her newly permed brown curls bobbing enthusiastically. "As long as he's not married, he's eligible."

Ginny finally conceded to her curiosity and turned around to look at the Slytherin table. "Fine, he's better looking than last year, but I'd still go Gryffindor."

Parvati screwed her face up in concentration. After a few moments, she finally said, "I don't know... I just might vote for Malfoy as the most eligible. He has that air to him, you know."

"Air of an arrogant prat, you mean," Hermione added.

Harry and Ron both looked at the girls, completely baffled, and the food forgotten. Finally, Harry asked tentatively, "You vote?"

"Of course," Parvati answered in a matter-of-fact voice before staring across the Great Hall again.

"And Malfoy just might be number one this time," Lavender added. She patted Harry's shoulder consolingly. "But you've been number one for the past three years, and he's only been number two."

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Me?" Ron pounded on Harry's back enthusiastically, making it even more difficult for Harry to catch his breath.

"Of course." This time, it was Hermione who answered. "Harry and Malfoy are both from old families, wealthy, rich, and powerful, but Harry has a much better personality and he's probably slightly more powerful." Hermione paused to eye Harry and Malfoy in consideration, making Harry squirm. "I'm probably still going to vote for Harry."

Ron turned his wide, brown eyes to look at Hermione in shock. He whispered, "You vote?"

"Of course." She smiled at Ron. "I'd vote for you if you did your homework."

Ron turned to his dinner and buried his red head in his hands. He decided that he was never going to understand girls.

* * *

Snape barely managed to stifle his gasp of surprise when he stepped into the outer room of his suite to find Lucius Malfoy standing there. The Nightmare had some frightening skills and apparating into Hogwarts without using his wand was one of them. Snape could only be grateful that Lucius Malfoy hadn't had any reason to dislike Snape. 

"What do you want?" Snape asked, his annoyance clear.

"Good evening, Severus," Lucius replied instead. "I hope your classes are going well."

Snape snorted as he put the papers he was holding onto his desk and moved to sit in his favorite chair. Any visit from Lucius was bound to be tiring, if not long. "Even you wouldn't so blatantly ignore Dumbledore's authority unless it was something grave."

"Very well then... May I sit down?" When Snape didn't answer, Lucius looked around and sat down in Snape's favorite chair.

Snape turned and sat in the other chair in the room. "What do you want?"

Lucius hesitated. "For you to watch over Draco."

Snape let a long-suffering sigh escape. "You ask this every year. Have I ever said no?"

"Will you do it, then?" Lucius persisted.

"Yes, I will do it." Snape rolled his shoulders back into the chair, only to run them into the carved wooden back of the chair. Damn, he missed his big, comfy chair.

"And Potter, too," Lucius added.

Snape stilled. "Harry Potter?"

Lucius looked at Snape drolly. "Do you know any other Potter—who's alive?"

"But... Harry Potter?"

Lucius nodded sharply. "Potter must be kept safe. He's to be Draco's mate."

Snape searched for some trace of joking or something to indicate he was joking in Lucius steel eyes, but only found gravity there. "You're forcing Draco to mate with Potter?"

Lucius shook his head, so his blond hair swayed like curtains in front of the sharp features of his aristocratic face. "No, he chose Potter. Out of Potter, Dumbledore, and Riddle."

"Nice choices," Snape muttered. Then, louder, "I would ask, but I don't think I'd ever understand your Nightmare politics. All I can say is, I don't understand how you can make him go through this after what you chose."

Lucius turned his gaze to Snape's messy desk. "You know I love you."

"And I love you, but not in that way." Snape rolled his eyes. "We've had this conversation before."

But Lucius ignored Snape. "I know I should've chosen you, but politics..."

"That I would never understand." Snape sighed again. "Besides, I've never loved you in that way, so it's probably for the best that you didn't choose me. Still... Narcissa? She—"

"Don't," Lucius cut Snape off quietly, but firmly. "Don't talk about her. I have to protect her because she is my mate, and I won't fight that instinct. Don't you understand, Severus? Narcissa is my mate now. For the rest of my life, I'll think of her and dream of her and lust over her and hate her. That is my lot in life."

Snape chose to remain silent.

Lucius trained his gaze on Snape again. "Promise you'll watch over Potter, too."

Snape closed his eyes. It wasn't as if he wouldn't protect the Golden boy. After all, he still owed James Potter a debt. "I'll watch over him." Before Lucius could say anything, he added, "And I'll try to guide them, but I can't promise anything else, Lucius. The rest will be up to them."

Lucius simply nodded before he disappeared.

There wasn't even a 'pop' as he disapparated.

Snape thought, _Ugh, Nightmares._

* * *

"So, you've managed to avoid us for an entire week," Hermione cornered Harry just as he was about to leave the library for the Gryffindor common room. 

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably and glanced between Hermione and Ron. He had hoped that the Potions assignment due on Monday would have had Hermione frantic with research, but no such luck. Finally he decided to say, "What are you talking about? I've talked with you at every meal and in the common room everyday."

"Oh, don't try to play stupid," Hermione said impatiently. "You know what I mean."

Just to be clear, Ron added, "The maybe-Order business."

Instead of replying, Harry accused in a whisper, "There are people here."

"No, there aren't," Hermione answered shortly.

"Sure there are." Harry craned his neck to look at the rest of the tables in the library. Incredibly, they were all empty. Startled, he asked, "What'd you do?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's Saturday. The library's empty. You can tell us what happened."

Harry looked to Ron for help, but Ron shrugged, too, and stayed silent.

"Well," Harry stalled, not quite wanting to give in yet.

When both of his friends stayed silent, Harry shifted in his seat, but he couldn't think of any more excuses to keep the whole Nightmare business to himself. Besides, it wasn't that Harry didn't want to tell his friends, it was just that he wasn't quite sure what to tell them. Harry hadn't quite figured out what happened either.

"It's like this," Harry began hesitantly.

Ron nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione's gaze sharpened to attention.

"You know how Voldemort has the dementors and the vampires helping him?"

Hermione nodded this time.

Under his breath, Ron muttered something like, "Nasty creatures."

"And..." Harry thought of how he would continue. He really wasn't a people person and his first years at the Dudley's hadn't encouraged positive and open communication either. "Well, this other group of non-humans came to Dumbledore recently. They were willing to ally themselves with the Order."

Hermione thought very quickly and asked, "What do they want from you?"

Ron had a puzzled expression on his freckled face. "Why would they want anything from Harry?"

"Of course they want something from Harry," Hermione explained as if it was rudimentary Charms. "Headmaster Dumbledore asked Harry to be here for the decision. If they didn't want something from Harry, why would Dumbledore ask him to be here?" Impatiently, Hermione looked at Harry again. "And...? What did they want from you?"

"Well... They want me."

"What?" Ron asked, his expression blank from incomprehension.

"Do explain," Hermione asked more calmly.

Harry answered in a rush, though. "The Prince of Nightmares wants to mate with me."

"But Nightmares are extinct," Hermione refuted Harry's claim. Then, she turned thoughtful again. "Of course, they could hide if they wanted to. Physically, they're just like really pale humans."

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore believed that he was the Prince of Nightmares. I don't actually know who he is, because he doesn't want me to know."

"Blimey," Ron muttered, although Harry thought Ron might have said, "Kinky." Louder, Ron exclaimed, "The prince of an extinct species wants to mate with you."

Hermione shushed him quickly. Even if the tables were empty, Madame Pince still guarded the library and was liable to interrupt their conversation at anytime. Luckily, Madame Pince didn't seem to notice them, though.

Then, Hermione narrowed her eyes angrily. "You mean, Dumbledore is asking you to whore?"

Harry winced. He hadn't quite thought of it that way, but he supposed that it was true. But what did Hermione expect him to do? Hold onto his virginity and let thousands of innocent people die? Besides, weren't guys' first times not supposed to be a big deal?

"Can you research the Nightmares for me?" pleaded Harry instead, ignoring what Hermione had said. Just because he was a stubborn and foolhardy Gryffindor didn't mean he was completely daft. He could at least try to figure out what to expect after he agreed to mate with one of those Nightmares.

"I would love to," Hermione answered, and looking sincere. Harry beamed. His face fell when she continued, though. "But I doubt I'll find anything. All information on Nightmares are banned by the Ministry."

"Fudge," Harry accused vindictively.

"Actually, it's not Fudge." Hermione surprised both Ron and Harry by saying. "The law was established over eighty years ago. I doubt even Fudge knows what Nightmares are. I only stumbled on a mention of Nightmares when I was reading _101 Odd and Obscure Behests of Our Ministry_. The book was actually quite interesting. Did you know that pixies can't wear their shirts inside out? It's because—"

"So," Harry cut Hermione off hastily. It wasn't that he wasn't curious about pixie dressing habits—he wasn't, though, just to clarify, even if this law did sound interesting—rather, Harry thought the habits of Nightmares rather more interesting. "What do you know about Nightmares?"

A blush started on Hermione's cheeks. "Not much..."

"I know!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, startling both Harry and Hermione. "Malfoy is a Nightmare. He is an absolute nightmare!"

"Ron..." Hermione wasn't sure of how to correct Ron without hurting his feelings. Malfoy would be the last person who would want to mate with Harry, even if Malfoy was pale and magically talented, and someone who—if he did want to mate with Harry—wouldn't want Harry to know his identity before Harry agreed and...

Hermione focused her gaze on Ron's face. "You are absolutely right! It's Malfoy!"

"Malfoy?" Harry half whispered, half choked before covering his horrified green eyes with his hands.

Before Hermione could say anything else, though, the three of them were startled to hear clapping next to them. They looked over, only to find one Draco Malfoy smirking nonchalantly at them. "I'm surprised that Gryffindork didn't figure it out before the Weasel."

For one long moment, Ron could only stare at Malfoy, his brown eyes quickly becoming as horrified as Harry's. His whisper carried clearly to the other three pairs of ears. "It _is_ you?"

"I know," Draco agreed uncharacteristically easily. "It's unbelievable that you actually came up with an original thought of your own. After all, your family has always been too poor to give you anything but hand-me-downs."

"You... ferret!" Ron spat with pure disgust, his face turning red quickly.

Draco remarked, "So I see the originality was just a fluke after all."

Hermione barely managed to hold Ron back as he lunged for Malfoy. Honestly, she didn't understand why Ron still let Malfoy's insults get to him. It had been five years, for Heaven's sake! It wasn't like Malfoy came up with new insults or anything.

Malfoy hardly spared Ron a disdainful look before pulling Harry aside. Unprepared for Malfoy's strength—Malfoy was only a couple of inches taller and very lean looking—Harry staggered a little before finding his balance.

"Tonight," Malfoy said before Harry could ask what in bloody hell Malfoy thought he was doing. "Midnight. Slytherin Common Room. Password's 'not about sleeping.'"

Before Harry's brain even processed the abrupt change of topic—and Malfoy's demeanor—Malfoy turned to leave, his black robes swirling behind him, reminding Harry quite eerily of Professor Snape.

* * *

"Not about sleeping," Harry muttered under his breath as he made his way down to the Slytherin dungeons under the protection of his invisibility cloak. He would've asked Hermione for help figuring out the password, but he hadn't wanted to listen to Hermione's inevitable lecture on how there should be boundaries of how much Harry should give up for the war. 

Yes, he was only a sixteen-year-old boy. No, he hadn't had a good childhood. Still, Harry considered himself lucky. Not only was he the only one to survive the killing curse, his parents had loved him enough to give up their lives for him. So his aunt and uncle weren't the nicest people, but he had all—okay, most, since Snape was a professor, too—of the professors looking out for him and great friends. The Weasleys practically adopted him.

Half of the Weasleys were in the Order anyways, and certainly, many other people whom his loved and respected were in the Order. If they were willing to risk their lives—and Sirius already gave his—for the cause, why shouldn't Harry give such a little thing as sleeping with someone?

Besides, there was only five minutes left before midnight. Even Hermione couldn't work out the Slytherin password that quickly.

Harry sighed. Even though he had managed to talk himself into going through with the deal, he was still trepidatious. It was Malfoy, after all.

Harry took off his invisibility cloak at the entrance of the Slytherin common room and stared at the gray stone wall in front of him, just as blank as he remembered it being second year. Only, this time, he had no idea what the password was.

Correction: he had one hint. The password was not about sleep.

"Something..." Harry muttered again. "...not about sleep."

He closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to find one thing out of dozens that weren't about sleep. A great creaking noise startled Harry and made open his eyes. The stone wall had opened, and Harry could barely see the common room inside.

"Oh." Harry hesitated before stepping into what he considered 'enemy territory.' Then, he spat, "Malfoy." Trust Malfoy to tell Harry the password without actually telling him the password.

The wall swung shut as soon as all of Harry was inside the Slytherin common room, even before Harry had both feet on the carpet. Just as Harry remembered from second year, the Slytherin common room was still dark and dank under the lake, but decorated opulently in green and silver.

This time, though, only a dying fire from the fireplace lit the empty room. As Harry scanned the room again, he noticed somebody sitting in a chair in a corner, the shadows almost completely concealing him. Only the pale hair gave the person away, as it flickered from the light from the fire.

Harry wondered what he should say to Malfoy. He searched for something not contemptuous or vain or down putting or scathing to say, and failed spectacularly.

However, Malfoy spoke first, "So it seems like we are going to join in an alliance anyways Potter, despite first year."

Harry tried his hardest to ignore the patent Malfoy sneer obvious in Malfoy's voice, but it seemed even nastier than usual. Harry spat, "I am _not_ offering you friendship."

Malfoy pushed himself easily out of the chair, languid as a cat, and stepped menacingly toward Harry. Somehow, Malfoy managed to reach Harry at the other end of the common room in two easy strides. He looked down at Harry contemptuously from his advantage of two or three inches. "You're just going to be my lover."

Harry refused to back down. Even if he had to dance to Malfoy's tune, he didn't have to lose his dignity. He was doing what he was doing for the sake of the Order. For the sake of the world.

Harry grimaced at that thought. He never wanted to be somebody special. His fondest dream had always been to live in an ordinary house as an ordinary child with ordinary parents. True, he was grateful for his friends at Hogwarts, but he'd always thought his first time would be with somebody he liked—like Cho—even if it wasn't somebody he loved.

Malfoy saw Harry's grimace and narrowed his cold silver eyes at him.

In response, Harry said vindictively, "I'm doing this for the war. I would never love _you_."

Harry watched Malfoy's eyes widen and nostrils flare gratifyingly before Malfoy regained his famed Malfoy expressionless-ness. "That's even better." Malfoy's tone indicated that he couldn't have cared less whether Harry liked him or not. "I've always wanted a fuck-toy."

Harry clenched his jaws and managed refrain from commenting. He supposed his first time could be worse. He could be raped...

Instead, he asked stoically, "Here?"

Draco glared at Harry for not having responded the way he had expected Harry to respond. He had waited for this moment, when he would have something to hold over the glorious Gryffindor hero's head. And now his goading seemed completely useless. Draco refrained from sniffing disdainfully—he was a man, and men didn't sniff, disdainfully or not—but truly, the Potty had a serious hero complex.

Well, it wasn't as if Draco chose to mate with Harry out of several choices. Harry would probably be horrible to him even after they mate, but now was the only time that Draco could get his jibes in. After they were mated—and Draco had been avoiding this thought—Draco would love Potter.

Draco felt panic and defeat creeping in on him. His life would end up even worse than his father's.

But he was prophesized as the next Prince. Draco held back a snort. Who cared about prophecies in this day and age? But he might as well get the mating over with. Supposedly, all the fear and dislike and trepidation disappears after mating. It was true, judging by his father. Only bitterness remained.

Draco gritted his teeth. "My room, of course," he answered flatly. Two could play at this game of nonchalance.

Draco turned to lead Harry to his room before he saw how Harry responded to his own nonchalance. He missed the sudden angry blaze in Harry's emerald eyes, and he was too far away when Harry vowed under his breath, "It's just this one time, and only because I have to."

Even so, Harry followed Draco down to his private rooms. Like royalty, Harry thought, Malfoy gets his own room. Oh wait, he _was_ a prince.

**

* * *

Author's Notes:**

**To reviewers:** Thank you all very much for reviewing. I will try to keep up with your expectations, but writing is significantly harder than reading. (I used to always wonder why authors didn't just write their stories instead of waiting forever.) To all those who asked for an update: here it is. I was planning on updating once every month, so that I'd have something to tide over my inevitable writer's block. Now you will all know why if I don't update for six months. Another thing is that I'm on vacation, which means dubious internet connection. I have chapter six finished, but you probably won't see them until December or January because 1.) I'm mean and I don't feel like it and2.)I have to correct chapters to keep the plot logical and then it goes through my rereading and two betas.

**To Priestess of Silvanus:** Considering their history, I wouldn't be too surprised if one of them hurt the other. But they have to sort of develop feelings for each other (at least one does) before that can happen, right? wink (It is categorized as romance.)

**To miadragonlover:** I've never heard of Nightmares before this story either. Hopefully I can figure out what they do before you do. Otherwise, you might get one of those pretty cliché all powerful beings... Now, that would be a nightmare. (Pun intended.)

**To the evil one:** Why ''the evil _one_'' when I know for a fact that there are two of you? You really should be more generous and leave two reviews. And yes, how exciting, we will be seeing each other again in less than a month. (Note sarcasm.) Of course, that is _only_ because I loathe school.


	3. Storm and Thunder

**Chapter Three – Storm and Thunder**

Harry woke up early Sunday morning, feeling groggy. There wasn't any sunlight streaming through the windows yet, but that could just as well have been because the day was overcast. He rubbed his bleary eyes and peered at the clock next to his bed, only to find the fuzzy image giving him absolutely no information at all. Finally, he put on his glasses and looked at the clock again.

He flopped back onto his bed. It was only four in the morning, and even Hermione didn't get up until five on Sundays to study. He wanted sleep. He needed sleep. But he could feel his bladder protesting.

Reluctantly, Harry made his way into the bathroom. As he washed his hands after he relieved himself, he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. The mess of black hair covering his scar looked the same as it always did. His green eyes hadn't changed either. But he certainly felt different.

He rolled his right shoulder experimentally, and it worked fine. Unlike after an intense Quidditch match, his neck and shoulders didn't hurt. It was mostly the other muscles that he had never even felt before, and one of them, especially, made him uncomfortable.

He hadn't known that "mating" with a guy would have been so painful. Or awkward. No wonder most men preferred doing it with girls.

Harry contracted his butt cheeks carefully, and they felt all right. Still, Harry remained wary. Last night had been the most awkward moment of his life, and that included his encounters with Voldemort. In the first half of his time with Malfoy, he had had no idea of what was going on, and then in the second half, he had constantly felt like he needed to use the bathroom. In the big way. Nearing the end, his whole torso and half of the rest of his body hurt from staying still in the awkward position of only having his arms and legs on the bed. Malfoy had made him keep his torso up away from gravity, so as to make the mating easier.

For Malfoy, maybe.

And did Malfoy really need to bite Harry that many times? Harry tugged at the short sleeve of his pajamas as he stared at his reflection. Thankfully, Hermione had thought to wait up for Harry and she had healed most of his bruises. Still, one giant red bite mark wouldn't disappear. Although, the mark was only on his shoulder and Harry supposed that if he was careful to wear sleeves, he could probably hide the mark until it faded.

The only good thing to come out of this was that Harry wasn't an innocent virgin anymore. He wrinkled his nose at his reflection. He didn't feel any different in that respect and he still didn't know what his dorm mates were talking about when they said sex was pleasurable, but he knew what "awkward moments" were now.

Harry went back to lie his bed and catch some more sleep. He had barely managed to slip away from Malfoy at two, and his sleep so far hadn't helped him very much. Harry just wanted one night of comfortable sleep in a comfortable bed without having to worry about the Order, or the Weasleys, or Voldemort, or the prophecy, or what would happen if evil conquered all.

* * *

Draco turned over and let his hand fall across the other side of the bed, straight onto the slippery silk sheets of his bed. The thought of waking up without Potter beside him jerked him out of his comfortable sleep. 

He sat up and groaned. Whatever time it was, it was too early to be up and about, especially since he still had all those nightmares to collect. For instance, Draco knew for a fact that the Longbottom klutz hadn't had his nightly Potions nightmare yet.

Finding Harry's absence so disconcerting, Draco could only stare at the empty half of his bed some more. Surely, Potter wouldn't just have left him—him!—in the middle of the night, especially after they had just slept together.

But Harry didn't seem to be hiding in a shadowed corner of his room either.

But... but... Harry was his mate!

Besides, nobody had ever left Draco after a night with him. He refused to even think of the possibility that the Gryffindor—a Gryffindor—could have found him anything less than satisfying.

It was probably some absurd notion that Potter had about disliking Draco. Potter would be one to leave just to show that he didn't care about Draco, and Draco hated even more the fact that it had gotten to him, made him second-guess himself.

Well, if Potter didn't like him, who cared? Draco thought. He didn't like Potter either.

It wasn't as if he needed his mate next to him in order to fall asleep. He was way past the monsters in the dark stage.

With that thought, he laid back down on his side of the bed and tried to fall asleep. From then until dawn, Draco's mind wandered between the conscious and the unconscious, trying to find peace in dreams and failing.

* * *

From the darkness of his throne, Voldemort hissed, "Do you need another reminder?" 

Damien bowed low on the floor, his pale hair shone in the dim candlelight from the entrance of Voldemort's throne room. He barely managed to stop trembling, which his lord would have seen as a weakness, and weaklings were not needed or tolerated in his lord's magnificent following.

Still, three consecutive _crucio_s of his lord's caliber were difficult to endure, even more so stoically. Their toll was even becoming visible on the Nightmare.

Damien barely managed the expected even and respectful reply. "No, my lord. I have learned my lesson."

For a second, Damien thought that his lord sharpened his red eyes reproachfully at him and Damien stilled completely. But then the moment passed, and his lord nodded blandly.

"Fortunately," Voldemort continued in a strangely cheerful tone, raising the hackle on Damien's back. "I have had several successful muggle exterminations recently to keep me in a good mood. But you don't really care about muggle infestation, do you? All you care is that the wizards remain pureblooded."

This time, Damien didn't merely imagine Voldemort looking at him as if he was a rat in a trap. Damien only hesitated for a moment before answering truthfully, "Yes, my lord." It was rumored, after all, that his lord knew legilimency.

Even if his lord didn't, his lord had a mammoth of a memory, and was sure to remember everything Damien had told him, including the name of the third guppy Damien's aunt's cousin's step-son had. Damien couldn't even remember why they had talked about it in the first place anymore.

"But now that the Prince—" Voldemort sneered. "—of yours is helping the Order, I will have to expand even more energy, which I shouldn't have needed to spend, to counteract your little miscalculation."

Damien was intelligent enough to stay bowed without saying anything.

"Tell me, Typhulus," Voldemort hissed. Damien resisted the urge to shrink from his lord, an action that he knew Voldemort would take offense at. It seemed that his lord was as mercurial as ever and his earlier good mood had already disappeared. "How do you expect me to help your people when your Prince—" Damien knew for sure that he saw Voldemort sneer this time. "—is foolishly allying himself with my enemy?"

"M-my lord," Damien began a little hesitantly, still not daring to look up at his lord, lest Voldemort took it as a sign of disrespect.

Voldemort interrupted, "Do you think that I am so ugly that you cannot bare to look at me?"

Damien felt his trembling returning with his lord's dark mood. "N-no, my lord." He stood up and looked at his lord.

"Did I say you can stand up in my presence?"

"N-no, my lord," Damien repeated, before promptly kneeling on the floor again, but he kept his eyes on his lord this time. He tried to continue his previous line of thought. "However, the mating process cannot be completed until the potential mate accepts the bond. There is little possibility that Potter will accept the bond."

"I know that, you fool." Voldemort shut Typhulus up quickly. Then, he added much more pensively, "But do you not also think that the brave, noble hero of the world would be willing to do anything to save the world?"

Finally, Damien was relieved to know something that his lord didn't. He kept his relief carefully hidden though. His voice was even when he said, "But the potential mate cannot simply agree, they must agree to be the mate subconsciously as well, and the Malfoy brat has less than ninety days to woo his enemy."

Voldemort chuckled, a harsh, unnatural sound. "The Potter boy would never love the Malfoy brat."

Damien clenched teeth, but decided that he probably should inform his master, "He doesn't need to love, he just needs to want the bond..."

Voldemort's red eyes glittered ominously in his dark chamber again. Before Typhulus could worry too much about it, though, Voldemort smiled nastily, showing two incomplete rows of horrid, rotting teeth. "Then it will be your job to be sure that Potter does not see something in the Malfoy brat."

Damien bowed his head in acknowledgement of his lord's order.

Voldemort nodded once. "Now, leave."

Damien stood up and bowed deeply to his lord before backing out of his lord's chamber. It was at times like this, he wondered why he even bothered to serve a wizard, even if said wizard was immortal. Maybe, it would have been much better if he had taken a wizard or witch mate to serve him. Damien thought that perhaps he could accomplish more without the dark mark on his left arm.

But, no, he corrected himself. He rubbed his dark mark absently as it started throbbing dully. There was no possible way that he could keep the wizard blood pure without his lord. His lord was, after all, the greatest wizard in all of wizarding history. He must serve his lord in order to serve the greater good of the Nightmares.

* * *

Harry winced as he woke up with a headache later on Sunday. It must have been from too little sleep. It wasn't even a particularly awful headache but it had reminded him unnecessarily of Voldemort until Harry realized that the dull throbbing at the temples felt quite different from the sharp pain he usually felt from his scar. 

Harry sat up and put on his glasses. He glanced at the clock by his bed only to be surprised by close it was already to lunch.

Maybe the headache was from too much sleep, Harry re-speculated. Hermione had mentioned that something like that could happen. Of course, Hermione had been saying it as a reason to get up and study.

When he stood up, Harry tried to stretch out the muscles that still hurt from last night. Stretching had always worked when he tried to ease his aches from Quidditch, and he thought that it might work for these other muscles, too. He certainly hoped that these aches would go away sometime soon.

Harry pulled out some not-so-baggy hand-me-downs from Dudley. Uncle Vernon had given them to Harry several years ago, and they weren't nearly as big as some of his more recent hand-me-downs from Dudley.

It wasn't that Harry didn't have the galleons to buy himself new clothes; it was just that he hadn't bothered. Harry couldn't see the point of spending money on casual wear he already had. Besides, baggy was comfortable. So was well-worn cotton.

Harry hurried out of his empty dorm to the Great Hall, following the smell of chicken potpie and the noise from hundreds of voices. He was glad to find that the Hogwarts population carried on as usual even if the world seemed slightly askew today for Harry. Of course, Harry thought wryly, just because he was a famous wizard didn't mean everybody noticed everything about him.

He slid carefully between Hermione and Ron, who were arguing about the merits of waking up early to study. Hermione argued that since too much sleep wasn't good for the constitution anyways, it would be much more constructive to use the time studying. Ron, though, believed wholeheartedly in the arts of being lazy.

As Harry slid a slice of the chicken potpie on his plate, Hermione demanded, "What do you think, Harry?"

"What do I think?" Harry repeated stupidly as he put the plate down. His brain wasn't working yet.

Ron muttered something indistinct through a mouthful of the pie. When both Harry and Hermione gave Ron blank looks, he gulped down his food quickly—and painfully, it seemed to Harry—and said, "Harry just woke up, didn't you, mate?"

"You just woke up?" Hermione sounded scandalized.

Harry nodded, but then added quickly, "It's because I have a headache—not that kind of headache. Just a normal one..."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said sympathetically. "Maybe we can find something to help you feel better. Madame Pomfrey probably has something."

Ron's eyes widened. "B-but—" he sputtered.

"What?" Hermione asked Ron coldly. "Harry isn't feeling well. Of course he should stay in bed. You, on the other hand, have no such excuse."

"I wasn't feeling well either," Ron whined.

Hermione's eyes narrowed ominously. "Yes, but maybe you should have considered that when you stayed up until four this morning to play exploding snap."

"I-I wasn't—"

"Of course you were." Hermione huffed. "I could hear you all the way up in the girls' dorm. Stone walls block sound, but they also echo sound remarkably well. Maybe the frequency might have been altered, but the noises were all the same. Why do you think that there are echoes in canyons?"

Ron had lost Hermione somewhere along the word 'block.' It was Sunday, for heaven's sake! Hermione couldn't have expected him to learn anything on Sunday, could she? He managed to ask, "There are echoes in canyons?"

Apparently, that was the wrong response. "Ugh!" Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration.

When she turned to look at Harry, Harry said hastily, "I know about echoes in canyons. I read Dudley's _Gooey and the Great Canyons_ when I was little."

Hermione only sighed as she tried not to roll her eyes again. It was supposed to be bad for health. Although, Hermione wasn't sure that she believed the evidence presented by that particular paper; the whole eyeballs getting stuck behind her eyelids seemed like a bull load of crap.

"I know you are much smarter and more sensible than Ron. I was just worried that you haven't finished your Potions paper yet."

Harry groaned. He had actually managed to forget all about the Potions paper. Even if Snape no longer taught Potions, the subject still didn't come easily to Harry. "I haven't even started it yet."

"That's what I thought. Do you want some help sometime?"

Harry smiled. Hermione was a very good friend and very smart, too. His paper would probably go three times faster with her help.

From the other side of Harry, Ron asked petulantly, "How come you help Harry, and not me?"

"Because," Hermione enunciated slowly and carefully, "Harry is sick. You are perfectly fine. Besides, I am helping you by making you think about the answers yourself. Sleeping draughts are very important and precise potions that are bound to be on the NEWTs."

Ron grumbled something and went back to eating.

Bewildered, Harry looked between Hermione and Ron. He was reminded greatly of first year, when Hermione corrected Ron about the pronunciation of the levitation spell, but something felt different...

Before Harry had time to dwell on it, though, a great gust of wind blew through the open doors of the Great Hall, sending stray papers every which way and errant shadows flickering on the walls. Even if it had not been sunny outside, there was hardly a storm brewing.

The whole of the Great Hall quieted, waiting for some sort of explanation, when Draco Malfoy stalked into the room. The ceiling of the Great Hall, which reflected the outside sky, showed spirals of clouds so low in the sky that it looked like the sky was falling apart.

Seemingly oblivious to the hushed Hogwarts population, Draco started a murmured conversation with Blaise Zabini, whom he sat down next to. It seemed as if the entire Great Hall strained to hear their conversation, but the Gryffindors, who sat furthest from the Slytherins, could only fidget silently and wait for gossip to travel to their table.

Suddenly, Draco raised his voice and shouted, "Potter is not worthless." After a shocked pause from the listening crowd, he added, "I could gain many favors if he somehow disappeared."

Murmurs swept through the Great Hall. The Hufflepuffs breathed again, knowing that all was normal. The Ravenclaws tried to figure out just what Harry had done this time. He couldn't possibly have made Mrs. Malfoy join Mr. Malfoy in Azkaban, could he? The Gryffindors all looked at Harry and tried to laugh away Malfoy's latest episode.

Harry, though, stuffed the rest of lunch angrily into his mouth, and made some excuse about a headache. He couldn't wait to leave the chattering table.

The day hadn't been worth getting up for, much less twice.

* * *

Draco walked into the Great Hall to lunch. Of course he noticed the absolute silence; He was a Slytherin. Today, however, he didn't feel like giving them gossip. They could make up their own. 

He nodded to Blaise as he sat down next to him.

"People are wondering about the weather," Blaise pointed out quietly.

Draco's jaw set. "I'm in a bad mood."

"Yeah, well, you know, I know, and Pansy knows." Blaise paused thoughtfully. "Bulstrode probably knows, too, because she's Pansy's latest friend. But the rest of them don't know."

Although Blaise was right in that Draco could match the weather to his mood, today's horrid weather was not caused purposefully by Draco. Nightmares pulled magic from everybody they were tied to, and tamed the various strands of magic with the magic they pulled from the person closest to them. Before, that person had always been his father. Now, though, Draco needed to use Potter's magic.

For some reason, though, Draco couldn't get more than a trickle of magic from Potter. As a result, all the power he pulled from the other Nightmares remained as wild magic. If Draco had his way, he would probably blow up the Gryffindor Tower... except that would cause too much trouble. Besides, Harry stayed there. As it was, Draco released his magic the least destructive way possible: through the weather.

Draco gave Blaise a bland stare before placing some food onto his plate. "They can just guess, then."

A corner of Blaise's mouth turned up, but the expression looked more like a smirk than a smile. "They'll think you are a god."

"They already do."

Blaise nodded sagely. "If it weren't for Pansy's possessiveness, you would have all of Hogwarts girls falling at your feet, rather than just half."

"It's good that I don't like girls then," Draco replied easily. "Otherwise, Pansy'd have to disappear." Draco chewed a piece of chicken potpie thoughtfully. "As it is, Pansy doesn't really care either. She figures that if she has to marry a _man_, then she might as well go for the most eligible."

Blaise snorted. "What about me, then? Don't tell me it's not because her family is affiliated with yours."

"You," Draco looked at Blaise pointedly. "Are obviously not as eligible as I am. For one, you snort. You shrug, too. Obviously, not a very well-bred gentleman."

"You wound me." Blaise placed a hand dramatically at his chest.

"Besides, all the polls say I'm more eligible than you are."

"Pffah, the polls." Blaise waved them away with his fork. "They all say that Potty is more eligible than you are, too, and we both know that he's worthless."

Draco put his fork down on his plate carefully. He turned to Blaise and narrowed his eyes, so that they were barely glittering, silver slits. "Potter," he intoned clearly and dangerously. "Is not worthless."

As the silence continued, though, Draco realized just how loud he had said that and how odd that must have sounded coming from him. At Blaise's pointed look, he added, just as loudly, "I could gain many favors if he somehow disappeared."

Draco was gratified to hear the murmurs that swept through the hall. Next to him, Blaise commented, "And you gave them something to gossip about anyway."

Draco made some sort of response, but his attention was focused across the Great Hall. He felt a cold fury build up as he watched the other Gryffindor hover around his mate. He barely managed to catch a word here and there, but he knew the general gist of what they were saying, and he didn't like it.

His gaze followed Harry as Harry left the Great Hall. Did Harry eat enough lunch?

But then Draco felt his chest constricting and just held back a cough. He fisted his hands tightly until he got used to the pain. He needed to have a talk with Potter.

* * *

Instead of going to his dorm, Harry made his way to the Room of Requirement. _Somewhere private_, he thought, as he walked down the hall and walked through the familiar door. The Room of Requirement surprised Harry with an arrangement that was half his Common Room and half his dorm. Sometimes, Harry swore there must be something more than conscious in the Room of Requirement. 

He sighed as he sat down in a big, red armchair. The flame in the fireplace gently evolved into a large, cozy fire, warming the room.

Harry couldn't believe how stupid he had been. He hadn't even checked with Dumbledore before he mated with Malfoy. Harry really couldn't see what Malfoy would gain by sleeping with Harry, and Harry really thought the answer might be 'nothing.'

How could Harry have just taken Malfoy's—the lying, sneaking, good-for-nothing, always-depending-on-daddy Malfoy—at face value? Now, Harry could just see Malfoy listening in on their conversation in the library and his selfish Slytherin brain telling him to take advantage of the situation.

Harry didn't want to have to do that again, but at least he would know what to expect. Besides, anybody was probably better than Malfoy.

But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that now Malfoy had something else to taunt him with. Harry could live well enough with the same bullying that he had endured the past five years, but he wasn't sure exactly what Malfoy could do with this new material. Something sharp and cutting, he was sure.

And what if Malfoy pulled out a piece of hair while Harry wasn't noticing? Malfoy could make a polyjuice potion—or ask Professor Snape to make one—and try to spy for Voldemort. Or if Malfoy took blood—from tissue tearing or just plain biting—what would Malfoy be able to do with that? Harry would rather not speculate.

Harry groaned into his hands. He'd have to go and tell Dumbledore that he mated with the wrong person. And he would have to ask who this person is—he had already agreed to the contract, after all, which was only slightly less binding than an Unbreakable Vow.

This was all so frustrating and embarrassing... and wasn't there a two-month time limit to completing the actions agreed to on the contract? Why didn't Harry read the contract carefully? Hermione would have.

Harry stood up before he realized he didn't know where to go and sat down again. He wished he could get a sign as to what he should be doing.

At that moment, the door to the Room of Requirement opened, and Malfoy walked into the room. Harry and Draco eyed each other distrustfully and asked simultaneously, "What are doing here?"

Harry braced his arms on the arms of the chair. "I was here first."

Draco crossed his arms under his chest. "I would roll my eyes at how juvenile you're acting, but—"

"—you are too damned aristocratic—"

"—that is unrefined." Draco finished forcefully over Harry.

They glared at each other.

Draco continued, "It is completely your own fault that you didn't accept my friendship over the penniless Weasley's first year. It would have made it so much easier for you to adjust to being my Consort."

Harry was distracted from Draco's insult to Ron by the last part of what Draco said. Harry repeated, "Consort?"

Draco made a sound of disgust. "I'm the Prince. You're my mate. Thus, you are my Consort."

"I'm your mate?"

Draco's eyes scanned the Room of Requirement before he leaned back against the red and gold wall. "Mudblood actually seemed intelligible. Maybe she sucked the intelligence out of all of your house, because I have never met another Gryffindor quite up to standards—Slytherin standards, that is—but I have not met one so addled as you, either, Potter."

Harry ignored Draco's insult. "What do you mean, I'm your mate?"

Draco looked at Harry. "We mated. So, you're my mate."

"B-but..." Harry stammered, completely bewildered. Then, he managed to yell, "That means we have to do... _that_... again."

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously at Harry. "Are you complaining?"

"Well," muttered Harry. He was _not_ afraid of Malfoy. He stated defiantly, "The kiss with Cho was better."

With measured steps, Draco walked towards Harry until he leaned menacingly over Harry's chair, leaving Harry no way out of the chair. Harry looked up with a vague sense of panic, only to see Draco's silver eyes staring back down at him.

Harry thought he knew what was coming, and he didn't want to do it. He regretted wishing for a private room, and hoped frantically that somebody would interrupt or distract Draco.

As Harry felt Draco's lips on his—Draco must use some expensive lip balm to keep his lips so soft—the door to the Room of Requirement burst open, and a flash of light went off.

When Draco stepped away quickly, Harry turned to see Colin standing there with his camera. Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Yes, he had wanted a distraction... but not quite this kind of distraction.

On seeing the glowering expressions on both Harry and Draco, Colin waved weakly and left the room in a hurry.

Draco turned and smirked at Harry. Draco was still upset that they had been interrupted, but now that his Nightmare instincts were safely tucked away to seethe at the back of his mind, he could also see that there had never been a mood to interrupt. This way, at least, Draco could stop gracefully.

Besides, this way, everybody would know that Harry was his. That Mudblood bitch would just have to keep her magic to herself.

**

* * *

Author's Notes:**

Big thanks to everybody who encouraged me and kept up with me so far. I know that two chapters are not a lot, and I'm trying really hard to keep up with this story, but school and everything else is taking up all my time and then some more. Geez, I just wish I don't have to go to school... but it does end in about a week and a half (for me). Yay! 


	4. The Royal, The Rich, and The Rest

**Chapter Four –The Royal, The Rich, and The Rest**

Lucius sneered mentally, but he wasn't stupid enough to let Voldemort see his contempt. _Crucios_ were crude, for those who merely wanted to imitate the art of torture. As a High Councilor of Nightmares, Lucius knew so many more ways to cause so much more pain. Even so, _crucios_ still hurt, and Lucius saw no purpose in enduring pain that could be just as easily avoided.

And Lucius couldn't even begin to imagine what Voldemort was trying to accomplish by 'slipping' Veritaserum into Lucius's drink. Truly, Voldemort should have at least known that Nightmares were immune to those kinds of things. They could, after all, heal all. Their only limitation was the strength of their magic, as dictated by their mate.

But if Lucius had to endure Narcissa's endless belittling and affairs, he at least had a mate powerful enough for his High Councilor status. Besides, Narcissa had already accepted the bond, when she had first realized the power of the Nightmares. She could no longer deny Lucius her magic.

Instead, Lucius held the upper hand. He pulled on her magic whenever he wanted to, and she weakened from this loss until he decided to give her magic back to her by sleeping with her. She had only denied him her bed once, but Narcissa had learned her lesson. Of course, Lucius didn't sleep with her often, either. Still, he was careful to keep her alive, because her death would kill him by making him unable to tame the foreign magic he gathered.

"Tell me," Voldemort hissed, sounding more like a depraved, mindless monster than usual. Today must be a bad day. "Is your son's bonding with that despicable boy successful?"

_So,_ Lucius thought, _Voldemort does know my identity._ Still, only old women used words like 'despicable.' This question, though, Lucius could answer truthfully, "No." The 'boy' had not accepted the bond. Yet.

Lucius would make sure that the 'boy' did, though. Now that the 'boy' was his son's mate, and no longer simply a famous nuisance to be rid of, Lucius would need a different tactic from simply _aveda kadevra_-ing the 'boy.' Maybe _imperio_ would work.

But then, maybe not. It was rumored that Voldemort had used the spell on Potter and failed. Lucius considered carefully... If he pulled on the magic from both Narcissa and his son, he could probably force Potter, but he didn't like the plan much. It wasn't foolproof.

Now, if he could pretend someone else was doing it... Or maybe send the spell silently, which required more concentration...

"Will the bonding be successful?" Voldemort continued asking.

Lucius had a hard time believing that the cunning Slytherin house could only produce this... this... miscreant. But there were bad eggs from every chicken. Again, he answered truthfully, "I do not know, my lord." If he had any say in it, though, Lucius would make sure that the bonding succeeded.

In the shadows where Voldemort hid, Lucius thought he saw Voldemort nod. "How can I prevent the bonding?"

Being killed twice really must lower one's intelligence. Lucius resolved to never get killed even once. "Unless Potter denies the bond or Draco dies, nothing."

Voldemort didn't seem surprised. "What reason could Potter possibly have for denying the bond?"

_Besides the fact that the 'boys' had hated each other for years?_ Lucius thought. _Or that I am a Death-Eater and have tried to kill the Potter?_ "None." Lucius paused artfully. "Unless he is made to, I suppose."

"You mean, take one of Potter's sidekicks as hostage?" Voldemort seemed eager.

Disgustingly so. Like Typhulus.

Lucius refrained from rubbing the throbbing dark mark on his left arm. He refused to like Voldemort. It had been a lot easier resisting the subtle attraction to Voldemort since he had discovered the charm hidden in the dark mark to make people revere Voldemort. Cunning, really, but crude, too. And quite rudimentary.

Lucius answered Voldemort, "The acceptance is an unconscious thing. You have to make him deny the bond's existence. Which can only be done with _obliviate_ or _imperio_."

Voldemort accepted Lucius's truth easily. Lucius started wondering if he even needed to use the magic to clean the Veritaserum from his system. He really didn't look forward to sleeping with his wife tonight. Still, the plan was better if it was foolproof.

"That is all," Voldemort said imperiously, waving Lucius away.

Lucius bowed respectfully. But not too respectfully. He inquired politely, "My Shadow?"

Voldemort nodded. "I will be sure to keep your Shadow active in Azkaban as a gift for your loyalty. It will be easier, of course, if it was a horcrux."

"I'm afraid I am not as great as you," Lucius replied, respectfully, and backed out of Voldemort's chamber.

Of course Voldemort wanted Lucius's horcrux, but those things caused humans to degenerate into monsters, like Voldemort. Besides, Lucius was a Nightmare, and Nightmares didn't have souls. Voldemort would just have to be happy with a piece of Lucius's spirit.

* * *

Harry had managed to ignore Malfoy for a whole week—not even mentioning his name, by the time the Gryffindor Gazette came on Monday morning. It was a new one-page biweekly started by the Creevey brothers. The owls swooped down to the table and it seemed to Harry that every girl and some guys from Gryffindor subscribed to the magazine. Even Hermione.

Harry tried to read over Hermione's shoulder, wondering what could possibly be so popular. Besides, if Hermione read it, it had to have some educational value.

Harry frowned as Hermione shifted, and the gazette disappeared under her bushy brown curls. Under the prompting of his curiosity, Harry shifted too so that he could read the gazette. But Hermione seemed really fidgety today and moved again, and the gazette was once again out of Harry's view.

"Um, Hermione?" Harry asked tentatively. Sometimes, it was a bad idea to interrupt Hermione's concentration. Especially when she was concentrated on printed text. Harry just hoped that this wasn't one of those times. "Can I see the gazette?"

"Hmm?" Hermione replied distracted as Harry watched her fold the gazette and set it in her bag.

Harry repeated, "Can I see the gazette?"

"The gazette?" Hermione started piling food onto her plate and eating the eggs very properly. "There's nothing interesting in there."

Nothing interesting? Harry wondered about that. After all, Hermione read it. Although, Hermione also read _101 Odd and Obscure Behests of Our Ministry_, which Harry had managed to check out from the library. Just as Hermione had said, there was no information on Nightmares. Only that they wished to have nothing to do with humans.

Still, he had found out why pixies couldn't wear their shirts inside out. So, he thought there might be some information in the gazette as well.

Harry asked, "Can I see it anyways?"

Finally, Hermione turned her attention to Harry. "It's not interesting." At Harry's patent disbelief, she added, "It's girl stuff."

"But some guys read it, too," Harry pointed out.

"Well, they're gay."

"I'm gay, too," Harry said without thinking.

The silence spread from Harry's to the very ends of the Gryffindor table.

"I mean..." Harry peered carefully at all the people who seemed to be listening to him. "I... um..."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Sleeping with another guy doesn't make you gay, Harry. I can kiss and lick all the girls I want, but I wouldn't be lesbian. You have to be sexually attracted to someone of your own gender—in your case, men, and in my case, women—in order to be gay."

"Okay..." Harry couldn't believe that Hermione had just said that to a listening audience. Judging by several other faces at the table, they had expected Hermione to be all prim and proper, too. Some guys had obvious already stopped listening at the 'kiss and lick' part.

Although... On second thought, Harry could believe that Hermione had said all that. Hermione had never been a prude—she just valued knowledge over... certain other aspects of life. Besides, the explanation had probably been all very perfunctory to Hermione.

It was Lavender who broke the silence. Holding up her gazette, she pointed to the large black and white photo. "So this isn't true then?" Lavender sounded disappointed.

Harry looked closer at the picture, but he could only see a profile of himself sitting in a big armchair. He had seen that armchair somewhere, Harry thought vaguely, trying to remember the importance of the picture, when Draco stepped into the picture. The black and white Draco grabbed Harry by his chin—Harry didn't remember this part—and kissed Harry on the lips.

Quickly, Harry realized that now, not just the girls, but all Gryffindors had seen the photo. He tried to hide the rising blush and failed. "Um, yeah," he answered lamely.

"'Yeah, it's true' or 'Yeah, you're right, it isn't true?'" Lavender pursued.

Harry felt his cheeks heating up even more. "The first one," he said weakly.

"So, you do like guys?" It seemed as if Parvati and Lavender took turns being the inquisitor and squeezing out gossip.

"Not really," Harry muttered. Why? Why did they care? Wasn't something like this supposed to be personal information? Why wasn't Hermione defending his privacy?

Unfortunately, Parvati didn't finish questioning him yet. "Then, do you like girls?"

Harry remembered the really wet kiss he had shared with Cho. "Not really."

"Ooh," Both Parvati and Lavender gushed. Harry didn't understand why they were gushing. Could the rest of the table turn away now so he could have some porridge?

It seemed not, because all the Gryffindors seemed to start talking at once. Harry was bombarded with unintelligible questions about his sexual orientation, and Harry really didn't care. He wanted to finish breakfast. He wanted to do his potions homework. He wanted to defeat Voldemort.

He sighed and tried to ignore all the questions. It wasn't as if anybody would hear him through all the shouting anyways.

"Hey," Ron finally interrupted the endless questions. "It doesn't really matter who Harry likes. He's still the savior of the wizarding world, right?"

At that, the Gryffindors cheered unanimously. Harry wasn't sure that their new attitude was an improvement.

Ron turned to Harry. "As long as you don't fall for me." Then, Ron shook his head regretfully. "But did he have to be Malfoy? I might just have end our friendship, anyways."

Harry thought Ron was joking, but he couldn't be sure. The enmity between the Weasleys and the Malfoys was legendary.

When Harry smiled hesitantly at Ron, Ron patted Harry on the back. Harry counted himself lucky that no bones broke. Ron had grown bigger and stronger and sometimes he forgot why he could be the keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Ron said good-naturedly, "I'm just joking. Hermione and I'll always be your friends. Besides, Mom would have a fit if I told her you're no longer my friend."

* * *

"What," Draco asked Blaise, his voice filled with venom, "can the Gryffindors be clamoring about?"

Blaise shrugged elegantly under his custom-made school robe. It had only cost a hundred galleons, but Madame Malkin always made excellent robes. It was an issue of pride for her.

"Aristocrats don't shrug," Draco complained without much heat.

In response, Blaise only shrugged again. "Don't you want to know what they are clamoring about?"

Draco bit his buttered toast correctly in lieu of shrugging. "It was only idle curiosity."

"Okay," Blaise accepted easily, but his blue eyes sparkled mischievously under his black hair, and it made Draco suspicious and wary. "I won't tell you, then."

Draco glared at Blaise with quelling, cold eyes. "Tell me," he demanded imperiously. Just to add weight behind his words, he added, "I'm the Prince."

Blaise rolled his eyes negligently. "Well, I'm not a Nightmare. Actually, I'm more nouveau riche compared your ancient Malfoy and Parkinson lines' aristocracy anyways. Besides, I doubt even you'd do anything with him—" Blaise glanced significantly at the table at the end of the hall, from where Dumbledore surveyed the students and teachers eating breakfast. "—watching there."

When Blaise started eating his own toast instead of saying anything else, Draco narrowed his eyes at the toast.

Suddenly, Blaise found garden snakes hissing and slithering up his arm. With a yelp, he jumped out of the seat and started swatting the snakes away. As soon as he opened his hand, though, a piece of perfectly harmless toast dropped back to the ground.

Blaise spared a glare at Draco before sitting down at the Slytherin table again. The other Slytherins had the good sense not to ask why a piece of toast had startled Blaise. After all, Blaise hung out with the Prince of Slytherin.

Blaise picked up another piece of toast, only to have it turn into snakes again. This time, he pretended he still held the toast and put the imaginary toast carefully onto his plate. The snakes disappeared.

After a covert glance at Headmaster Dumbledore told him that truly, the headmaster didn't notice—or simply didn't care about Slytherins, he looked at Draco in annoyance and just a little bit of awe. "Just how are you doing that?"

"I have to be angry for it to be real." Draco sounded miffed, if Blaise read him right. "But the illusion is good enough, and if I key it only to you, nobody else will notice a thing. Actually, it's a lot more convenient in this case. And you can't tell me what they're clamoring about if you were dead from snake venom."

Blaise sighed heavily. "I can't believe I'm letting you get away with this, but I'll tell you." As Draco watched Blaise, Blaise bent over his bag and shuffled some paper around. Finally, he pulled out a piece of paper.

"'Gryffindor Gazette,'" Draco read the top of the paper incredulously. It was dated today.

Blaise muttered, "Know thy enemy." Then, in a much more enthusiastic tone, he said, "It does have some interesting news. Why don't you look at the photo?"

As recommended, Draco looked at the photo. At first, he wondered about what was so special about Potter sitting in a chair, until he saw himself enter the picture. He watched himself kiss Potter with a strange sense of satisfaction.

He actually smirked when he saw the title of the article. "The Two Most Eligible Hogwarts Bachelors No Longer So Eligible," it read. The Creeveys might want to write more concise titles in the future, but they certainly had the gist of it right.

"How did you subscribe to this thing?" Draco asked reluctantly.

"I didn't." Blaise poked his toast before picking it up gingerly. When the toast remained toast, he took a bite out of it. Ah, buttered toast with strawberry jam... "I sent Zarr with three sickles to the older Creepy yesterday. I just wanted to see if there was something worth reading. If they keep this quality up, though, I just might subscribe."

Draco only nodded in response, taking a bite of his own toast. "I think I might want to subscribe, too, if this is what Potter is reading."

"I think the easiest way is to do it is to buy a Hufflepuff's name."

Draco nodded in agreement. Occasionally, Blaise came up with decent ideas without Draco's assistance.

"And I have a plan," Blaise continued.

Draco's attention sharpened at this. "A plan for what?"

Blaise gave Draco a strange look. "A plan to become the most eligible bachelor at Hogwarts, of course."

Draco's face blanked as he thought. "Is there competition?"

"Of course, there's always competition." Blaise paused. "But it seems as if Ron Weasley is the main competition."

"How did he ever get into the running?"

Blaise shrugged. "He's pureblood, good, kind, powerful. Has nice connections. Not bad looking if you go for the red-haired type, and hot tempered enough that girls are drawn toward him." He paused in thought. "The main thing, though, is that the Mudblood would vote for him. So, if I can seduce Mudblood, then I can be the most eligible bachelor."

For once, Draco's face had an expression, and it looked as if he would gag. "You will seduce Mudblood? That's a high price."

"Well, I figure I'd have whomever I want after that." Blaise stabbed his eggs disinterestedly. "Besides, I probably won't even have to say anything with the lectures she gives."

"Still... Mudblood?"

Blaise sighed and nodded. "It's the only plan I have."

"I think I prefer Potter."

* * *

As he had expected, Blaise found Hermione in the library just after dinner, a three-foot stack of books by her side. She was perusing the one book that she had open in front of her and jotted down some notes from time to time.

Blaise had never set foot in the library before. Any research he had had to do, he had either asked the house-elves at home through the fireplace or, more often, browsed through Draco's extensive private collection.

But when Blaise had asked Draco about approaching the bushy-haired know-it-all Gryffindor, Draco had replied, without even bothering to turn around, "Mudblood would like this." The blond had pulled out a book from the shelf he was standing before. Blaise didn't know what the book was about and he didn't really care, because there was no reason that Draco would plot against Blaise's success.

It wasn't as if Draco liked girls. And even if he did, Draco had made it plain more than once that he would not descend to the mudblood's level.

Blaise sat down across from the mudblood unobtrusively and watched her for a while before he slid the book across the desk.

Surprised, Hermione looked up, her own brown eyes meeting Blaise's clear, blue ones. She picked up the book gingerly and took a look at the title. "_Nightmares and Nightmares_," she read in an awed whisper.

Blaise nodded in response. "I thought you might be interested." He watched as her delicate fingers skimmed the spine of the book and thought that if she wasn't so into books, she might have had some potential.

"Of course I'm interested," Hermione replied, her voice full of excitement. "I've been dying to read a book on Nightmares and this is probably the most comprehensive book on them." She paused as she remembered something. "But they're all banned, you know? Even Knockturn Alley didn't carry any. How did you get this one?"

"I asked Draco." Blaise smiled at her in what he hoped was a friendly way. "It's legal for Nightmares to own them."

Hermione opened the book carefully. "Do you mind if I keep it for a few days? I promise I won't fold the pages or get it dirty or anything."

"Of course," Blaise agreed magnanimously. "Keep it for as long as you want."

"That would be forever. But I promise to give it back as soon as I'm finished reading it." Hermione smiled happily at Blaise. "I'm ashamed to say that I never thought a Slytherin would have an ulterior motive with good consequences."

Blaise, not quite knowing how to reply to that, only said, "You look quite beautiful, you know?"

Hermione laughed. "Now, I'm beginning to think that you have an evil ulterior motive after all."

"No, really." Blaise shook his head so that his black hair framed his face just so, and smiled a little smile. He found that he was honest, though, because when Granger smiled, there was just something... pure about her expression. And even if her hair would cause many girls nightmares, she had the prettiest and softest brown eyes Blaise had ever seen.

But Hermione was already immersed in her new book, living up to her reputation as a bookworm. Blaise stood up to leave. "I'll leave you to your book, then."

Hermione nodded and mumbled something that Blaise didn't quite catch, without taking her eyes off of the book for even a second. Blaise left the library, congratulating himself that it had gone better than he thought it would.

* * *

"You aren't serious about it," Ron said hopefully as Harry pulled the invisibility cloak around himself. "You can't do this! It's midnight! Filch is out there... _Snape_ is out there! You could... You could..."

"It was midnight last time, too," Harry's disembodied voice reminded Ron.

"Yes, but it was _Saturday_." Ron was stubborn when he wanted to be.

Harry continued, "I need to know just what this bonding means. And if I don't go soon, the password might change."

"But what if all the other Slytherins are in their common room, too?"

"I have my invisibility cloak," Harry replied easily. "And the Marauders' Map. Besides, it's not as if this is my first time sneaking around. I just want to find what exactly it is that Malfoy is playing at. I've always landed on my feet."

"Yeah," Ron agreed reluctantly. "But you've always had us with you before."

"That's true..."

Ron had a brilliant idea. "So, you really shouldn't be going alone this time, either. I should come with you."

"But Malfoy definitely wouldn't answer any of my questions if he saw you with me," Harry complained.

"He won't see me!" Ron jumped up from his bed in excitement. "I'll stay under the invisibility cloak and you can question him. He won't even know I'm there. I'll just be there as your backup. You know, two heads are better than one and all that."

Harry thought that what Ron said had some truth in it. Besides, he would feel better to have Ron with him, and it wasn't as if anything was actually going to happen. "Just... be careful."

Ron grinned. "Of course."

* * *

The password to the Slytherin house hadn't changed, and Harry and Ron walked into the dim Slytherin common room invisibly.

As the stone entrance clicked shut, the only occupant of the common room turned his platinum blond head around. "Who's there?" Malfoy's imposing voice rang echoed off the stone walls.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before stepping out from under the invisibility cloak. "I wanted to ask you something."

Draco only remarked, "So you finally decided to stop avoiding me."

"I wasn't avoiding you," Harry retorted heatedly. "I was busy."

"Whatever," Draco dismissed. "Finally accepted that you're bonded to me?"

"No."

"Why not?" Draco stood up to his full height and folded the piece of paper he held in his hands. Harry thought it looked a bit like the Gryffindor Gazette, but then mentally shook his head. As the Prince of Slytherin, Draco would never 'soil' his hand with something as mundane as the Gryffindor Gazette.

Draco turned to go to his room. When Harry tried to follow, Draco stopped abruptly and turned to Harry. Draco snapped, "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry frowned, baffled. "I have to talk with you. So, I'm going with you to your room."

"Exactly, it's _my_ room. Besides, I have to see my father."

Draco turned toward his room again and Harry tried to follow. Draco stopped and gritted through his teeth, "In my room."

"That's not possible," Harry said. "You can't apparate into Hogwarts and Dumbledore would never let a Death-Eater in. Besides the fact that he's in Azkaban."

Draco's felt his jaw muscle begin ticking. There was a reason he usually refrained from socializing with Gryffindors. "He's a Nightmare," was as far as Draco was willing to elaborate.

"I'm coming anyways," Harry said stubbornly. "We have to talk. Besides, I'm your mate, so he can't hurt me."

Draco clenched his jaws and the muscle stopped ticking, but didn't react visibly. He simply swept toward his room. Harry took Draco's silence as consent and padded after Draco, vaguely aware of Ron following him silently and invisibly.

The stone door that led into Draco's room opened as Draco approached it, revealing another head just as platinum blond as Draco's. "Father," Draco acknowledged.

"My Prince," his father replied with a slight bow. "I have brought my lord to meet you."

As Draco stepped into his room, he saw the disfigured humanoid creature sitting in his chair. He made a mental note that he would need to order a new chair. Hopefully Mr. Nelson was not traveling. Otherwise, Draco would have to endure several months without a decent chair.

Ron followed close behind Harry and the stone door slammed shut right behind him. He barely managed to hold in his gasp of surprise, but he did gasp, quietly, as he set his eyes on You-Know-Who for the first time. You-Know-Who glanced right over Ron, though, and Ron felt almost guilty for hiding under Harry's invisibility cloak.

Suddenly, Lucius shouted, "_Petrificus totalus_!" and froze Draco at the same time Voldemort threw an _imperio_ at Harry.

"Deny the bond," Draco heard Voldemort order Harry bluntly. His hearing was fuzzy, though, because he was concentrating on repelling his father's hex—why had his father hexed him?

The trickle of magic from Potter slowed to an erratic drop here and there despite Draco's desperate tugs on Harry's magic. Even as Harry fought Voldemort's order—because anything Voldemort wanted done must be wrong—and to hold onto both his conscious and subconscious thoughts, Draco could feel the bond fading. The sharp pain at Draco's chest spread until his whole body faded into a numb memory.

Just as Draco thought he would fade away completely, Harry fought and won the control of his mind from Voldemort. Harry felt his thoughts focus and what he saw suddenly became awfully real.

He was in the same room as Voldemort. Again.

Draco hid his sigh of relief as he felt Harry's magic trickle into himself steadily again. He used Harry's magic greedily to replenish his own.

Voldemort, though, obviously still thought that he had a chance of controlling Potter. His already monstrous face screwed up in a most unpleasant way as he reached for a stronger will to control Potter's mind.

Beside Voldemort, Lucius hid his wand behind the heavy folds of his midnight cloak and pointed it at Harry. "_Imperio_," he whispered softly but surely. It was really inconvenient how he needed a wand for the wizards' spells, but the wizards had managed to come up with a few useful spells.

For the second time, Harry felt himself swimming in that pleasant willingness. He tried to fight it again, but he had lowered his guard after his first victory against Voldemort and he was finding it extremely difficult to resist another attack on his will. Slowly, he felt his mind blanking, hovering almost pleasantly and waiting for a command.

Draco gasped loudly this time as he stopped feeling Potter's magic. As a Malfoy, he couldn't show any weakness, but he couldn't stop himself when he fell to the floor on his knees.

Lucius mentally ordered Harry to accept his bond with Draco, knowing that as long as his command was focused, Potter would have to accept it. When Potter struggled, Lucius pulled power viciously from both Narcissa and Draco. He was so focused on subduing Potter that he missed his son's fall onto the ground.

Underneath the invisibility cloak, Ron's eyes widened in horror. Yes, he had wanted to accompany Harry to keep an eye on the Malfoy git, but certainly wasn't prepared for two Malfoy gits. Even worse, You-Know-Who himself had somehow gotten inside Hogwarts.

Still, judging by the blank look in Harry's usually bright eyes, Ron knew something was wrong. To add to that, Malfoy—the younger one—seemed to suffering as well. Well, Ron came with Harry to protect Harry and he wasn't going to back out now.

Quickly, with the element of surprise on his side, Ron fired two silent _accio wand_s from under the invisibility cloak and gathered the wands of Malfoy, Senior and You-Know-Who with a sense of accomplishment. DA training hadn't been for nothing.

Ron even managed to immobilize You-Know-Who before the older Malfoy snatched the invisibility cloak away from Ron. The older Malfoy grabbed Ron by the collar of his cloaks and belatedly, Ron realized that even without magic, Malfoy senior could do quite some damage.

"Stop," Ron shouted desperately. He wished Charlie or Bill or Fred and George were here. Even Percy would probably have a better idea of what to do. Ron could only feel sheer panic making his eyes bulge out. Very unattractively, he knew. And his face was probably flushed...

"You're hurting your son," Ron told the Malfoy who grabbed him by his cloak.

Lucius looked over at his son out of the corner of his eye, not trusting the youngest Weasley son, only to realize that indeed, Draco was hurt. But he hadn't used any spells against his son. He had only pulled magic from his son, and his son usually had a large reserve of magic. Draco was, after all, the Prince of Nightmares.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at the Weasley he held in front of him, but he knew that it was surprising enough that the Weasley managed to fire three spells before Lucius caught onto him. It was nearly impossible for Weasley to have also hurt his son.

Then, had Lucius drawn too much magic? All of the High Councilors were bonded to the Prince through bonds of fealty, and if for some reason, several of them pulled magic from Draco at the same time, it was conceivable that Draco could come perilously hollow and close to death.

Or—and Lucius thought about this only because he was an imminently logical being—had his _imperio_ somehow adversely affected his son's tenuous bond with Potter?

Well, he couldn't do anything if it was the first case. And his _imperio_ didn't seem to be working anyways. So, Lucius decided to let the curse go.

Harry felt his mind clear a second time, and thoughts dropped like lead weights from the floating, fluttery place he had hovered. Suddenly, he understood that Draco's father had been trying to make him accept the bond. Harry supposed that the bond would never go away—that somebody out there would always make it important—even if he rejected it, and he had probably already agreed to it in the contract anyways, but he was reluctant to believe that he was tied to one of his few most hated people for life. There had to be another way... Surely, fate didn't work like this...

Draco still kneeled on the floor. His trembling had stopped once he felt Harry's sweet magic pouring over him. He savored the sensation and pulled to hurry the rush magic along, asking for more and more and more. Somehow, the magic flowed into him now instead of merely trickling, even if it didn't flow freely as his father had described it.

Lucius felt a part of him relax as Draco no longer trembled from pain. He stared at the Weasley he still held in his hand. He was tempted to kill Weasley—or at least maim him permanently—for his impertinence to hex Lucius, but he realized that Weasley had probably saved Lucius's son from Lucius himself and decided to let the Weasley off this time.

However, Lucius didn't have much time contemplate the second youngest Weasley's future as Harry's head connected loudly with the stone floor.

Lucius was about to ask what was the matter when Draco made a long, loud keening noise that even the stone walls of Hogwarts couldn't contain.

**

* * *

**

**Author's Notes:** Okay, first, to clear things up a little from last chapter. The way I understand it, the Room of Requirement gives you whatever you really want. Well, first, Harry really wants to be by himself. Then, he really wants a sign--and was sent Draco. Finally, he wants an interruption, and gets that in the form of Colin Creevey.

As always, big thanks to everybody who left reviews. It makes me feel like I'm writing something worth reading. They motivate me to keep writing.

Speaking of keeping writing... I have several issues. a.) You can probably tell that I need a beta. Anybody willing. (You'd have to beta all of my story, starting from the first chappie.) As a carrot (or caveat, or bait, etc.) I have up to the tenth chappie written. b.) I don't know where the story is going. The plot died after the tenth chappie. So... another reason I need a beta. Any volunteers feel free to email me.

And if I don't get any beta, I'm not going to post the fifth chappie until... well, until a long time later.


	5. Recuperation

**Author's Note:** Big thanks to Ashley for beta-ing this for me. She did a thorough and quick job. I was being slow.

**Chapter Five – Recuperation**

"Fine, _lumos_ then," was the first thing Harry heard as he decided that he was conscious again.

Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. His head pounded, and he could only vaguely see three oval shapes looming over his bed. Once he put on his glasses, the oval shapes sharpened into the faces of Ron, Hermione, and... Malfoy. The younger one.

Harry smiled to his two friends, but the first words out of his mouth were, "What is _he_ doing here?"

Ron, as eloquent as ever, simply shrugged.

Hermione, though, was always ready to give an explanation. "You're his mate," Hermione explained patiently. "Whether or not your decide to accept the bond and make him your mate." At this, Harry saw a scowl darken Malfoy's sharp, aristocratic face, but Malfoy remained silent. "So," Hermione continued. "His survival hinges on yours. He has a vested interest in your wellbeing."

Harry turned a questioning glance to Malfoy, who nodded in reluctant confirmation. A piece of Malfoy's hair—blond like the winter sunshine under the candlelight of the infirmary—slid down from behind his ear.

Harry stared. The piece of hair hung distractingly in front of Malfoy's face, making him seem less rigid and unreachable.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked worriedly when Harry didn't say anything.

Pulled out of the spell of Malfoy's hair, Harry nodded as best as he could laying down.

Hermione wasn't satisfied, though. She needed more concrete evidence of Harry's health. "Why don't you cast a _lumos _or something?" Hermione suggested.

"I'm fine," Harry protested half-heartedly as he reached for his wand. When Hermione, Malfoy, and even Ron waited expectantly, Harry waved his wand and muttered, "_Lumos_." A soft white light lit the room and reflected off of Malfoy's hair, shifting it to a more silver than blond hue.

"Nox," Harry said and the light disappeared. He turned to his friends with a tired smile. "See, I'm o..." He was about to say 'okay,' but a great weariness overtook him and the edges of his vision faded to black. At his friends' worried faces, he tried to reassure them, but slipped into a dreamless sleep instead.

"You shouldn't have tired him," Draco rebuked Granger, although he too was relieved that Harry could still do magic.

Hermione glared at Malfoy. "I didn't hear you contribute any better ideas on how to tell him that he needs to sleep with you to get better."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron interrupted. "By 'sleep with,' you mean 'on the same bed,' right?"

"Well, I don't see how they can do it on separate beds."

Ron turned alarming shades of green and red, even thought it was still two months early for Christmas.

Malfoy ignored the color-changing Weasley. "Yes, he should have performed a spell, but you made him do two."

Impatient, Hermione rolled her brown eyes. "You wanted him to cast _lumos_ forever? As if that wouldn't take any magic at all."

"What I'm saying is," Draco intoned forcefully. "That you could have chosen a more suitable spell."

"_Lumos_ is the most suitable," Hermione answered, sounding more than usually irritated. "Just because you are worried about Harry doesn't mean we aren't. And, apparently, your memory is failing because you had agreed with me not five minutes ago to ask him to do _lumos_."

"But he fainted!" Then, Malfoy added, "And I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about me."

Hermione looked at Malfoy as if Malfoy was crazy. "Harry was supposed to faint, remember?"

At that, Malfoy remained stoic and silent.

Hermione stood still under Malfoy's silver glare, and gave back just as good as she got. Ron, though, felt that he could do without the tension.

When the two still didn't move after several minutes passed, Ron told the room at large, "Uh... I think it's time for dinner."

* * *

"What do you mean by defying me thusly?" Voldemort asked. 

Lucius thought that Voldemort sounded rather pretentious. But then, Voldemort had always been a dirty half-blood fighting for the pureblood cause. Lately, though, Voldemort was just trying to replace the missing pieces of his soul with more deaths.

"I was acting for the greater good," Lucius answered simply. He didn't bother asking Voldemort what Voldemort meant. Playing stupid had never gained any favors from Voldemort. For that, Lucius gave credit where credit was due.

"How would your _imperio_ have acted for the greater good?" Voldemort asked rather disdainfully.

Lucius weighed his response before giving it. "It would have been for the greater good of the Nightmares."

Voldemort rounded on Lucius, his hissing grotesque face just an inch away from Lucius's own, but Lucius didn't flinch. "You were to have given up all your allegiances before you became a Death-Eater."

"I can't not be a Nightmare," Lucius answered calmly. "Just as I cannot not be a Malfoy."

"You will. You will be nothing but my loyal Death-Eater."

At moments like this, Lucius would swear that Voldemort had lost his mind. He wasn't sure if it was a command or a promise, but Lucius thought that it was rather weak and preposterous as either.

"I am a Nightmare, first and foremost." As an afterthought, Lucius added, "My lord."

This only seemed to irritate Voldemort more. He hissed, "You are mine. You have my mark. And your pressciousss little mate is mine, too."

"Narcissa is mine before she is yours," Lucius said. He was getting tired of this. If Voldemort felt up to a duel, Lucius was certain he had certain spells he needed reviewing. If not, Voldemort should really just let him go now.

"Your Shadow, then," Voldemort hissed. "I will take your Shadow."

Lucius made a shallow, mocking bow. "As you wish, my lord," he said in a sickeningly sweet tone before he apparated out of Voldemort's heavily warded private throne room. Quickly, Lucius 'healed' both himself and Narcissa of their unnatural tattoos on their left arms.

Narcissa would throw a fit, but Lucius was already thinking of punishments to quiet her down. Narcissa could actually be quite entertaining when she gave Lucius a reason to punish her.

* * *

Ron and Hermione sat next to each other at breakfast on Friday. When the owls came, Hermione surprised Ron by gasping and muttering before she even unfolded the paper. Curious, Ron looked over Hermione's shoulder. 

_Top-Class Prisoner Disappears from Azkaban_.

Ron and Hermione shared a look of expectant horrors before quickly reading through the paper.

"How do they mean by they have just found out about his disappearance?" Hermione asked. "He was there and then he wasn't. That's an escape. And even if they want to term it disappearance..."

Ron skimmed the paper again. "The wards didn't go off. None of the guards were injured or dead or even had spells done on them. One day, Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban. The next, he wasn't. And escape is when he could be chased after, but this sounds like he apparated out of Azkaban or something."

Hermione finished her toast thoughtfully. "But even without the dementors, it's almost impossible to get out of there. The wards are supposed to be even tougher than class one wards."

"But he can apparate out of there," Ron whispered in an awed voice to nobody in particular. He looked excitedly at Hermione. "I promised to tell you later about what happened with Harry, but Lucius apparated into Hogwarts—at least, he came into Hogwarts, without even setting the alarms off. So he could apparate out of Azkaban, too."

"Wait, Ron." Hermione turned so that she was looking at Ron full in the face. "When did you see Lucius in Hogwarts."

Ron frowned in puzzlement. "Monday. So four days ago."

"Okay, Ron. If Lucius Malfoy was in Hogwarts four days ago, then he wasn't at Azkaban four days ago. But they have just discovered his disappearance this morning, during the daily morning patrol. So, do you think Malfoy went back to Azkaban for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday?"

"Not really," Ron mumbled his answer, not really seeing Hermione's point in all this. Lucius Malfoy is no longer in Azkaban! Who cared if Ron saw him on Monday or not... Oh.

Hermione thought quickly, and grabbed onto Ron's hand. "We have to tell Harry."

Ron nodded in agreement, but Hermione's hand was warm and soft and distracting. "We'll have to skip Potions."

"No, we won't," Hermione said sternly. Much to Ron's regret, Hermione took her hand away to finish her breakfast. "We'll go in the afternoon. Right after lunch."

Ron sighed, but agreed.

* * *

When Harry came to again, it was to see a blond blob that must have been Malfoy sitting beside his bed, staring at nothing. 

Harry tried to sit up in his bed. "You're awake," Harry heard Malfoy's voice say disdainfully, as if it was Harry's fault that he had slept for so long. Or maybe Malfoy was resentful that Harry had actually survived whatever it was that had rendered him unconscious in the first place.

Harry frowned at where Malfoy's head seems to be. "Why are you here?" He decided he needed his glasses to frown properly at Malfoy, but he couldn't find them. He did find his wand, though, and a spell would do just as well. "_Acci—_"

"Stop," Malfoy commanded sharply, and Harry complied in surprise. The oval got bigger—and Harry could see two eyes and a mouth... a nose must be in there somewhere—and something was shoved into his hands. "Your glasses are here."

Harry put on his glasses and saw with relief as the infirmary came into focused. With a glare at Malfoy, he grumbled, "I can do magic just fine."

"No, you can't."

Malfoy's cold and precise tone of voice chafed Harry. "Can, too," Harry argued.

"You are acting exceptionally immature today. Even for you."

Harry sniffed indignantly. "Well, I _can_ do magic."

Draco glared cuttingly at Harry, and with his precisely gelled hair, sharp features, and pristine robe, Harry found it a little intimidating despite his Gryffindor courage. On the other hand, Harry was still injured and bedridden.

"Did the _lumos_ three days ago tell you nothing?" Draco demanded of Harry. Harry thought that maybe only the most Slytherin of Slytherins mastered this tone of voice. Snape certainly did, and so, apparently, did Malfoy.

But then Harry's brain caught on. "Three days?"

"Yes, three days. Your body has been working night and day since then just to replenish the basic amount of magic you need to live in Hogwarts," Draco explained, and for once, Harry wished that Hermione were explaining something. Hermione, at least, only made Harry feel like he knew nothing. Malfoy, though, treated Harry as if Harry knew nothing and was worthless because of it.

"But I'm supposed to be a powerful wizard." Harry decided that was a bit spoiled-sounding, but he was arguing against a Slytherin. Besides, weren't there supposed to be some perks to being famous?

At this, Draco was silent for a moment, surprising Harry. Then, Draco answered, "Well, I took your magic."

"You?" Harry exclaimed in pure shock. He said fiercely in a quieter voice, "I don't care what you thought you were doing, but give it back. Now."

Again, Draco fell silent. Harry prepared himself to say something even more scathing to the Slytherin, when Draco answered, "Gladly."

Harry was still in shock, when Draco took his glasses away from him. Something, probably the sheets on the bed, rustled, and Harry felt the bed dip alarmingly. He struggled to sit up properly in the bed, but got pushed down firmly by a pair of hands. Something tickled his face... A feather? Hair? A solid, comforting sort of weight settled on his thighs.

Until Harry realized just who this was. With ragged breath—because Harry was in shock—he asked, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" A woman's voice echoed. It sounded like Madame Pomfrey's.

Draco got off of Harry rather slowly, but his voice was nonplussed. "Making him all better."

Harry found his glasses and shoved them back onto his face

Faced with such impertinence from a student, Madame Pomfrey wasn't quite sure what to do. She opted for a simple, "Well, at least wait until you are out of here."

Harry perked up at this. "I can leave now?"

"No." Madame Pomfrey shot Harry a stern look much to Harry's chagrin. "Maybe tomorrow. We'll have to see. It's a good thing you're awake, though. I was worried, but the Headmaster was very firm about letting you have all the rest you needed."

"You mean I have to leave now?" Draco asked with a pout. A cute pout, Harry had to admit reluctantly. The pout might not work on Professor McGonagall, but he might have been able to avoid that slap in third year from Hermione.

As expected, Madame Pomfrey's expression softened. "I suppose you can stay. But mind you, don't agitate him."

Harry saw Draco nod like a good little boy that Harry knew Draco wasn't. "I promise," Draco said most sincerely, sending shivers up Harry's arms. There was something seriously disturbing when Draco sounded so sincere when Harry knew for a fact that Draco wasn't.

When Madame Pomfrey left Harry and Draco alone, Harry shot a wary look at Draco, who replied with a toothy smirk that was almost a grin. "I get to stay because I'm so worried about you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Now that you've demonstrated your special Nightmare power, can I get some peace?"

"That was just being me. You've seen nothing of my Nightmare powers." Harry found the pout turned on him, somehow transforming Draco's usually cold face into something adorable. Not quite pitiful, but close enough that Harry found himself trying to figure out what he said wrong before he realized that he had fallen for Malfoy's trick.

He glared at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked.

Hogwarts was back to normal.

* * *

Ron and Hermione burst into the infirmary, completely ignoring Malfoy, who sat there beside Harry. 

"Listen," Hermione told Harry once she saw that he was awake. "Lucius Malfoy disappeared out of Azkaban."

Harry nodded. "I saw him on Monday. Didn't Ron tell you?" He snuck a look at Draco out of the corner of his eyes, but Draco's pale face was impassive.

Hermione turned one of her teacher looks on Harry. "You really shouldn't keep things like that from me."

"But I just told you," Harry protested.

"Whatever." Hermione turned serious again. "But if he was out of Azkaban on Monday, do you really think that he would go back for several days, just to break out again?"

Harry offered as an explanation, "The dementors aren't there anymore."

Hermione shook her head. "Yes, but why would he want to go back?"

"I don't know." Harry really didn't feel like thinking about Malfoy and Malfoy and who was who and how what happened. He was supposed to be a patient. Didn't Ron say something once like, _at least you don't have to think in the infirmary_?

Well, the rule didn't seem to apply when Hermione was present.

"Okay," Harry acquiesced. "Malfoy—Lucius Malfoy—didn't go back to Azkaban."

"But then who was there?" At Harry's blank look, Hermione elaborated. "They have daily rounds, and Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban until this morning. If it wasn't Lucius Malfoy, then who was in Azkaban?"

"A substitute?" Harry said.

Ron added, "With polyjuice potion?"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't see somebody willing to be a substitute in Azkaban—even without the dementors—and drinking a potion every hour. Besides, the guards would have noticed errant traces of magic. And even if there was a substitute, he still had to go somewhere. No, it couldn't have been a substitute."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Ron asked, being smart for once, "What do you think?"

"I think—actually, this is just a guess from what I read..." Hermione paused to make sure that both Harry and Ron were paying close attention. "But I think that Lucius Malfoy kept an illusion inside his cell."

"An illusion?" Ron repeated. "But even Fred and George can't come up with real enough ones so that people can skip class."

"People shouldn't skip class," Hermione rebuked. "And Fred and George aren't Nightmares. Nightmares are supposed to be very good with illusions, since their specialty is with a person's subconscious. They can make people believe things that aren't true."

Ron asked, excitedly, "So you mean Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—can't do anything but phony fakes?"

Ron and Hermione treated Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—as if he wasn't there, which was normal, but they usually didn't insult him so blatantly, or casually. Harry snuck another look at Malfoy, but Malfoy still sat impassively. For a second, Malfoy's silver eyes met Harry's confused green ones, but then the moment was gone.

Hermione was talking again. "Of course Malfoy can do real things, probably more real than either you or I can, because all spells have a counter spell—except for death—but Nightmares don't need spells. But he can also make people—just you, or just me, or just the entire population of Hogwarts—believe something not real."

There, Hermione stopped and looked curiously at Harry, who was busy staring at Malfoy.

She sighed and told Ron, "I think Malfoy might be in the room with us."

Ron's eyes widened in fright, and Hermione hastened to add, "Just Draco Malfoy."

Harry saw Draco—it was too confusing to think of them as Malfoy and Malfoy... and saying Draco's full name took more time than Harry wanted to give him—shrug. Apparently, Ron and Hermione saw it, too, because they both jumped.

"That was an illusion," Hermione pointed out, not one for missing a chance to impart knowledge.

"Oh," Ron said lamely. Harry could tell that Ron no longer thought illusions were useless.

* * *

"Draco," Lucius greeted quietly as he apparated into his son's room. 

For a moment, Draco continued reading and neglected to acknowledge his father. When he did turn to his father, his face was a mask of utter fury such that Lucius had to control himself to not step away.

Draco hissed, "What did you think you were doing?"

Lucius kneeled in front of Draco. "I was trying to help you, my Prince."

Draco let out a harsh, grating laugh. "Somehow, I don't see my death helping me. Or you."

Lucius closed his eyes, but he couldn't pray, because the Nightmares sent their prayers to their Prince, and Draco didn't seem to be in a very giving mood. Lucius still feared for his life, though. Even before Draco had mated, he had had enough power to crush Lucius—Draco was the Prince. But now that Draco mated with Harry Potter, he could probably strip Lucius of his magic without any effort at all. Whereas before, Draco had been mellow enough to act as Lucius's son, he now acted as Lucius's prince. Who had a mate to protect.

"I wanted him to accept the bond," Lucius tried to explain.

Draco took a step toward Lucius, and the air behind him shimmered with his ethereal wings, beautiful wings in a person's darkest nightmare, and they only ever appeared when Draco was so angry that he couldn't reign in all of his magic anymore.

"You are worse than the mudblood," Draco said in disgust. "Even she would know better than to fiddle with the spirit of the mate of a Nightmare, even if she had to read a book to know it."

"I apologize," Lucius tried to appease Draco, but Nightmares were especially sensitive about their mates. In addition, Potter hadn't accepted the bond yet, so Draco would feel even more than usual agitation regarding his mate. "I did not think..."

"You are a shame to Slytherins. 'I didn't think,'" Draco mimicked cruelly. "The spirit _is_ the magic. What do you think happens to the bond when a foreign entity takes over the spirit, father dear? Do you want me to summon mother dear here to show you?"

Lucius remained silent.

Apparently, Draco's tirade was already over, though. "I have had enough of this. Enough of you. It is not as if you can actually help with my bonding."

When Lucius didn't move, Draco snapped, "Well, why aren't you at the Malfoy Manor yet?"

Lucius disappeared from Draco's room.

* * *

Harry was finally out of the infirmary on Saturday, having satisfied Madame Pomfrey with his health for one entire day. Unfortunately, his first day of freedom was a glorious day of sunshine and clear skies spent with Draco. 

"What do you want?" Harry asked shortly when they had walked silently all the way to the lake.

Draco gave Harry an intense look that Harry supposed he was expected to decipher. It only made Harry more irritable. Besides, now, ominous clouds were replacing the blue skies. "Look," Harry told Draco. "You either tell me what your problem is, or you can stop annoying me."

Another one of Draco's dark looks met Harry's request. Harry thought it could be because he was still weak, but he thought he saw the air shimmer, and it looked like something large and imposing behind Draco, but then it was gone. Harry muttered, "And the weather is turning miserable, too."

This time, Draco answered verbally. "Well, I'm in a bad mood."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "You mean you are causing this, too? Well, stop it, because some people actually want to enjoy their Saturday."

"Well, I do too," Draco answered.

"You can't do this," Harry said hotly. "You can't make everybody miserable just because you are."

"Can't I?" Draco returned.

Harry gritted his teeth. "It's not right."

"What is right?" Draco replied airily. "Maybe Dumbledore should worry about the thousands of muggles instead of his few hundred students. Maybe Hagrid should have been sensible and actually learned how to teach. Maybe Granger should share her knowledge instead of keeping it all to herself. Maybe—"

"You're not being fair," Harry interrupted.

"Maybe," Draco continued, taking a forceful step toward Harry. Harry tried very hard to keep looking at Draco in the eye, but when he snuck a peek down, he saw a ring of dried, yellow grass around Draco's foot. "You should worry about our alliance instead of your personal discomfort."

"Malfoy," Harry said quietly, not wanting to startle Draco into doing something even more drastic. "You're killing the grass."

"So?" Draco asked coldly. "I feel like it."

"But, you're _killing _it."

Without even looking down, Draco shrugged. "It's not like they can feel pain or anything. This way, I feel better, too."

"Malfoy, you can't just do whatever you want," Harry argued feebly. He felt as if he was arguing with a madman, or talking sense to a two-year-old.

"Sure, I can." Draco waved his hand expansively, his expression one of utter boredom. The air was still dry, but filled with static. Lightning started hitting trees, making them split in half. The grass and flower and weed wilted as if time had sped up. Somehow, the lake dried up—the clouds were darker—and Harry could see the squid and the water plants. "I seem to be succeeding quite well."

"No," Harry gasped as he looked around, the heavy wheezing of the dying squid filling the air. He had always thought that this was what it would look like if Voldemort won the war... but now Draco... Draco... Harry grasped his head and closed his eyes in denial. "No, no, no, no, no..." he repeated.

Beside Harry, Draco sighed almost inaudibly. "Fine," he snapped. "I'll grow it back."

"You can't undo death."

"I didn't say I'd undo death," Draco answered impatiently. Really, the phrases the Gryffindor used, as if the world was ending, instead of a little part of a little school called Hogwarts. "I said I'd grow it back. As in, new trees and grass, alright?"

"But, but..." Harry could not understand Draco's callous attitude. "But you still killed them."

Draco's voice hardened in annoyance. "If you keep complaining, the squid will die, too."

Harry closed his eyes. "Okay," he gave in. As new, clear blue waters filled the lake and lush greenery covered the land as if the deaths had never been, Harry thought despondently that perhaps there were some things Slytherins just didn't understand.

Or maybe it was just Draco.

**

* * *

Author's Note:**

As always, thanks for the reviews. And being patient. And I wasn't really blackmailing you. I was... just trying to elicit some help. Besides, I update fairly slowly anyways. It's not like I can update that much slower and still have you remember any of the story. Hope you liked. 


	6. Searching for Milk

**Chapter Six – Searching for Milk **

Lucius had barely settled into his chair in his study when Narcissa burst through the door. Her underskirt was twisted around her hips and her bare chest had begun sagging from age and bounced rather unattractively as she ran into the room. Although she had put concealer on it, Lucius could still see the faint bite mark on her shoulder. The concealer just made him angry.

"Lucius!" She yelled as soon as she set foot inside his study, running a rather dry hand through her matted blond hair. "What is the meaning of this?"

Lucius blatantly ignored her finger pointing to her left arm, with flapping meat but otherwise unblemished. "I was unaware that I said anything to you."

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" Narcissa stamped her foot for emphasis. At Lucius's continued silence, she said, "The Dark Mark!"

"What Dark Mark?"

"Exactly, where is the Dark Mark?" She breathed loudly. Lucius wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him more compassionate toward her frustration, but he felt that it made him rather disgusted with her. If she was to be a horse, she could at least choose those who mount her, instead of accepting everybody.

Narcissa forged on despite Lucius's apparent nonchalance. "It's good that Nott didn't see anything, but he's going to ask questions."

Calmly, Lucius asked, "So, it's Nott than?"

Narcissa gasped sharply and blanched. She took a step backwards. "N-no, it's not," she stuttered. "Nott... no... time... this..." Her sentences became unintelligible garbles.

"Too late." Lucius shook his head in mock regret as he stood up from his seat. With easy steps, he stepped around his desk to stand in front of Narcissa. "Too late," he repeated softly, as if in mourning, but his eyes held a new spark like just polished silver.

As Lucius walked past Narcissa, she pulled desperately on Lucius's white robe. "No, Lucius..." In desperation, she kneeled behind his departing back. "Please, Lucius..."

Lucius shook his head again. "Too late, sweet Cissy." He stopped walking toward the door, though, much to Narcissa's relief. "I've told you, as soon as I know who it is... You're going to have to find a new toy."

"It's not a game," Narcissa shouted after Lucius, and got up haphazardly to detain him, who had started his even walk toward the door again. "It's not a game! It's love. Just because you can't love doesn't mean the rest of us can't. Just because you're not human doesn't mean the rest of us aren't." She never gave up her grasp on Lucius robe, but he only shrugged it so it lay like a rug in his study.

Lucius easily ignored Narcissa's pleas, and made his way to the door of his study.

"Lord," Narcissa started gasping, her eyes wild from panic. "Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord."

Then, to Narcissa's relief, Lucius stopped and turned toward her. He remarked rather dryly. "I doubt even Voldemort can do much for his followers from afar. Or that he would."

"Not the Dark Lord," Narcissa snapped, gaining courage that she had found something to distract Lucius. "Even I know his rules don't work like that. I'm praying to the Almighty One in heaven."

"You?" Lucius made as if peering down on Narcissa and laughed uproariously, a hard, grating sound in the dim confines of his somber study. "You, who would commit genocide to preserve your pride?"

Narcissa's blue eyes blazed indignantly, but her clothes—or lack thereof—rather ruined the effect. "It's for the good of the world."

"Besides," Lucius continued in a strangely satisfied tone, ignoring Narcissa's interruption. "God is dead. We killed Him."

Here, Lucius paused dramatically, almost as if expecting Narcissa to somehow respond, but she could only totter between belief and disbelief. While powerful and ambitious, Lucius had never showed signs of madness. Rather the opposite, actually. But if God was no more... for Narcissa, who had grown up in a Catholic family like all purebloods, the thought was incomprehensible. God was almighty, all-knowing and eternal.

Lucius smiled beatifically. "I am a Malfoy. _Mal foi_. Where do you think the name came from?"

Narcissa was still struggling with the fact that Lucius didn't believe in God. At least, not a God who still watched over all of his creation on Earth.

Lucius wasn't a Catholic. By God, he was going to tell her next that he didn't really believe in the pureblood ideal.

Suddenly, Lucius grabbed Narcissa's arm forcefully. "You're my mate, Cissy. You can believe in a dead God all you want, but you will follow me first. Even when I no longer follow Voldemort."

Narcissa could only think of one intelligible reply. "But, why?"

"Because Draco has taken Harry Potter as his mate." Before Narcissa could offer any objections for an immutable fact, Lucius tightened his hold painfully on her arm. "And if you even entertain the idea of telling Voldemort this," he whispered menacingly. "I'll bite off your tongue and let the sweet taste of copper fill our kiss."

With her eyes closed, Narcissa could see clearly what Lucius meant. The bond between their spirits let Lucius fill her mind with his thoughts. At times like this, she reveled in it. With her mouth open, Narcissa barely controlled her breathing so that it was quiet and even. If Lucius ever knew that she enjoyed these punishments, he would stop them.

Lucius was very good with his punishments. Narcissa had yet to find another to be his equal. Nott, though, had a lot of potential.

Lucius's pale hand traveled up Narcissa's arm, leaving a bruise where he had grabbed her. His hand tickled her neck like feathers and caressed her face. "Then maybe I'll bite off your toes, one by one." His breath was a soft zephyr, a warm wind whispering into her ear. "I'll leave the big toes, I think, because it's quite difficult to walk properly without them. Then, I'll bite parts off of you where it won't show—your thighs, your back, your breast."

Here, he fondled her chest gently for emphasis. "And when I run out of places—that might take some time—I'll heal you... to start all over again. You know how much I love to see you scream." Lucius paused thoughtfully. "I don't think I'll heal your tongue, though. I don't much like to hear you jabber."

He turned and left the study, then, but he still needed to attend the High Councilor meeting before retiring for the night. As he swung on his white and gold cloak and apparated out of the Malfoy Manor, Narcissa found that she was slowly coming out of the all-consuming cloud of silver he had left in her mind.

She started gasping and trembling where she stood, her knees wobbling under her skirt and her teeth chattering. Lucius had said nothing more about Theodore, but she hoped...

Theodore was still waiting for her, Narcissa realized belatedly. He would be impatient by now. He would give her the release that Lucius withheld so miserly. Youth had never been gifted with patience, she thought in one of her rare moments of reflection. But that was what she so loved about them.

Truly, she _loved_ Theodore.

* * *

Harry woke up with a gasp. The room was so dark that for a moment he thought he was still stuck in his nightmare. Cautiously, he put on his glasses and turned on the light—careful not to use any spells, because even Hermione had warned him against exhausting his magic.

His ragged breathing slowed to a more even rhythm as his eyes adjusted so he could see the familiar Hogwarts dorm. Harry refused to think of his nightmare, and instead got up to get a drink of water.

And all he could see was Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. Harry turned around the empty room and Sirius was falling behind the Veil. And falling. And falling.

Harry stood rooted as he watched Sirius falling. Sirius wasn't falling slowly, but somehow, he never quite fell, and Harry just watched Sirius fall endlessly behind the Veil without doing anything.

No, Harry wasn't going to think about his nightmare. It was already in the past. It wasn't—it wasn't!—his fault and there was nothing he could do about it now.

But in the dream, people had suddenly appeared, crowding the Department of Mysteries. They were silent, almost zombie like. Harry saw Ron and Hermione and Ginny. Neville and Luna followed. He recognized faces from DA and faces from Gryffindor. He saw Hagrid and Mrs. Figg. But it was so crowded that he couldn't see them all.

Then, one by one, the people turned their big eyes at him. He met Ron's brown eyes first, and then Ron dropped down and became a pile of clothes white bones. Then Hermione. Then Ginny. Then Luna. Then Neville. Until everybody became piles of clothes and white bones.

Then the piles started smoking and the next thing Harry knew, there was not a trace of them anymore.

There was only Malfoy and Malfoy and Malfoy. Somehow, Draco, Lucius and Narcissa were all there. They laughed at him, with a great big silent mocking laugh that could only occur in dreams.

And Harry had wanted to turn away from them.

He did, only to see Sirius falling, falling, falling behind the Veil.

And the Malfoys were laughing, laughing, laughing.

With one hand, Harry grabbed the wooden doorframe to the Gryffindor dorm. His breathing was ragged again, but the solidity of the wood underneath his hand helped to ground him. His other hand tightened on his wand, even if he knew that he shouldn't perform any magic.

_I won't relive the nightmare,_ Harry told himself. _I won't. I won't. I won't._ He repeated the litany to himself, not caring that he sounded like a petulant child.

In the dream, all the Malfoys became one Malfoy. Harry couldn't quite see his features, but he spoke with Draco's voice.

Harry didn't quite hear Draco, but he knew Draco said, "See, I can make them all live again."

And all the people were back again and they were all walking toward Harry, but he could still see Sirius falling behind the Veil.

But then, all the people were gone again. "But I can't," Malfoy said. "Even I can't undo death." And somehow, that was in Lucius voice.

And the entire world was gone, and Harry stood alone in the night sky, without the ground below him. Except Draco's voice still haunted him. "It's okay," Harry heard Draco say. "I can just make another world. Just for the two of us."

"Grow it back," Harry muttered. "Grow it back. Grow it back. Grow it back."

Suddenly, Harry was in the Department of Mysteries again, all by himself. And there was Sirius falling behind the Veil. Only, this time, Dumbledore was falling behind the Veil, too. They were falling and falling and falling and falling.

And the people appeared out of nowhere. They shuffled toward Harry. They would look at him and falling down dead. Then the smoke and the empty room and the Malfoys all over again.

Then, Harry was alone in the night sky. The world had disappeared again from under his feet. And he was muttering, "Grow it back. Grow it back. Grow it back. Grow it back."

And Draco's voice said, "It's okay. I can just make another world. Just for the two of us."

When Harry didn't stop his muttering, though, Draco added, "Of course, I could put the old world back the way it was. But are you sure you don't want their suffering to stop?"

But Harry didn't know what to think. And he didn't seem able to control what he was saying either. He could only keep on muttering "grow it back" until the whole world was the way it was, with Sirius falling behind the Veil. Falling. Falling. Falling.

And Dumbledore falling.

Falling. Falling. Falling.

And Draco falling.

Falling. Falling. Falling. They were all falling behind the Veil.

And the people walking toward Harry and dropping dead and disappearing. Two Malfoys appearing and the world disappearing. Harry stood all alone in the center of nothingness, with nothing, not even stars, for company. All he could think about was that Sirius and Dumbledore were dead, and Harry hadn't even tried to do anything to help them. He just let them fall...

All Harry seemed to be able to mutter was, "Grow it back. Grow it back. Grow it back. Grow it back."

But there was no Draco to answer him this time, because Draco had fallen behind the Veil, too. And Harry was fated to be the Boy-Who-Lived-in-Eternity-Alone when he woke up.

Harry pinched his arm to bring himself back to reality. He was going to get a glass of water to wash away his nightmare. Or maybe a glass of milk, if the Marauders' Map said that the halls were clear. It had always worked with the nightmares induced by Voldemort.

After checking his map and grabbing his cloak, Harry made his way silently down from the boys' dorm. The Fat Lady mumbled her protest when she opened the entrance, but went back to sleep almost immediately.

Harry looked down at the floor, trusting the Marauders' Map to have told him where everybody was. His invisibility cloak was only for emergency and he figured there was nobody to hide from anyways.

As he passed a secret passage, though, Harry bumped into somebody. He looked up, only to see the sharp-nosed, greasy-haired DADA professor.

Snape asked mockingly, "And what, pray tell, do we have here?" He walked a circle around Harry, who stood immobilized. Somehow, Harry had forgotten in his panic that people moved, and that just because the corridor had been clear didn't mean it would remain that way forever.

"Why, is it Potter?" Snape's voice dripped with even more sarcasm than usual. "Is perfect Potter out in the halls after curfew? My, my, how many points will I have to deduct so you can learn your lesson?"

From past experience, Harry learned that these episodes passed quicker when he remained silent. Besides, Harry was too tired to think of something to say.

Snape continued, "Fifty points? A hundred?" The circle he paced around Harry seemed to get tighter and tighter. "I think I will take a hundred and fifty. Yes, a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor and you're not a month into the school year yet. I doubt even Dumbledore will be able to make up for that."

Harry schooled his face to be stoic.

Snape snapped, "Well, what are you doing here? Why aren't you heading to your dorm yet?"

Quickly, Harry left toward the direction of the Gryffindor house, but as soon as he rounded the corner, he put on his invisibility cloak. He waited until Professor Snape walked past him before headed back for the kitchens. He had already lost the hundred-and-fifty points, Harry figured he might as well get that cup of warm milk he wanted.

Besides, Snape had managed to wake Harry up completely. That and the nightmare, Harry sincerely doubted that he was going to get any more sleep tonight.

* * *

Snape sighed, knowing full well that Potter very probably wasn't heading toward the Gryffindor dorm. But he was in one of his rare moments when he didn't actually care what Potter did or did not do. He was too tired from the latest Death-Eater meeting. If he didn't have an image to upkeep, he would have pretended that he didn't see the Potter boy at all. 

Now that he had been his usual nasty self—Snape didn't really consider himself nasty, just candid, but by all other people's accounts, he was rather nasty—he should just be able to leave Potter alone. Potter would probably crash into Filch anyways. Snape personally thought that the squib was much nastier than Snape himself had ever been.

Of course, to be fair, Snape had to make allowances. The poor squib needed the magic of a cat to stay in Hogwarts. How miserable Filch's life must be... Snape would rather not know, actually. He had enough of his own problems.

One of them, for example, was too watch over the Potter boy, per Lucius's request. If it had been anybody else's request, Snape would just have ignored it. But Lucius was his childhood friend—if childhood friendship accounted for anything among purebloods. Furthermore, though, Lucius had spared Remus's life several times, simply by pretending not to know where Remus lived.

Lucius did know, though, because of the number of times that he had had to heal Snape. Psychological healing was one of the few things that could enable a Nightmare to see another's thoughts. Without Lucius's healing, Snape would probably be lying beside the Longbottoms now in St. Mungo's from the sheer number of _crucio_s Voldemort dealt Snape regularly.

Snape shuddered a little at that thought. He'd rather not be compared with the Longbottoms in any way possible.

Snape set his jaws determinedly as he walked toward the dungeons, and cursed his strange attachment to Remus Lupin. Even if Remus Lupin had been the only one in Snape's year to have ever been remotely nice to Snape, Remus had hung out with Black and Potter. Still hung out with Potter.

At least he had some time before he had to go fetch Potter, Snape thought. The only place worth going to in that corridor was the kitchen, where Snape had just gotten some chocolate to reenergize himself. The stupid school didn't even have rum, and Snape certainly didn't feel like going to Hogsmeade in his condition.

_À__bientôt_, Snape thought sourly at Potter.

* * *

When Harry tickled the pear, the door to the kitchen opened. Through the opening door, only to reveal a pale, blond head, the signature of a Malfoy, somehow already there. Harry suddenly felt panic overwhelm him. Hermione would've said that it was his right brain recognizing instinctively the object of fear from Harry's nightmare. 

Silently, Harry turned to leave. There was no point in getting that cup of milk if he had to deal with Draco.

Harry hadn't taken two steps into the dim corridor when somehow Draco was in front of him, blocking his path. Draco grabbed Harry's wrist with a deceptively skinny hand and deceptively slender fingers. Harry fought not to pull away or wince, but he knew that tomorrow, he'd have to cover finger-shaped bruises somehow.

"So, I wasn't quite the person you wanted to see," Draco observed evenly. As usual, his pale angular faced displayed no expression.

When Harry remained silent—how did Draco expect him to respond?—Draco continued, "Who was it you wanted to meet?"

Harry wasn't meeting anybody, unless Draco considered a cup of milk somebody. Still, he bristled at Draco's dictatorial tone. "None of your—"

"You're my mate," Draco reminded Harry fiercely. This time, Harry couldn't control his wince as Draco's fingers tightened—impossibly more—painfully around Harry's wrist.

Harry waited for a second, but the pain didn't lessen. Honestly, he was tired, he had just come back from the infirmary, he had had a very bad nightmare and all he wanted was a cup of milk. This was really not worth it.

Still, Draco didn't relent. Harry glared at Draco before answering, "No one."

Harry looked up at Draco, who had loosened his hold so that it was firm but no longer painful. Draco was a comfortable distance away again.

Harry thought Draco's pale face should have contrasted sharply with the dark corridors. But instead, it somehow blended seamlessly with the shadows, so that all Harry really could see were two rows of flickering candlelight lining the corridor and fading into the distance. The end of the corridor must exist somewhere, but Harry couldn't see it.

"What did you want then?" Draco continued doggedly. As Draco leaned in to emphasize his question, Harry pulled away, only to have his other wrist captured by Draco's hand, too.

Harry hadn't thought about it before, but now that he did, Draco's hands were unexpectedly warm. It wasn't even a clammy sort of warm, but a fireplace warm completely at odds with Draco's cold demeanor.

For his part, Draco was trying to remain non-emotional. Malfoys were beautiful, rich, aristocratic, and didn't have a care in the world. Still, tomorrow would be Monday, and that meant classes. Perhaps Potter could get away without any spells in Potions, but he doubted that even Potter could go through DADA without casting at least one spell.

And that spell might just spell the death of them both.

After all, Potter didn't have any more magic in him, and magic begot magic. So, Potter couldn't generate more magic either. Potter might live without magic, but Draco couldn't. And truly, Draco didn't want to die yet. He still had a stack of candy from his mother to eat. He still had first years to terrify. He still had a people to rule.

When Potter had been in his dorm, Draco had been able to convince himself that Potter was asleep and really shouldn't be bothered. Besides, Draco didn't know the password to the Gryffindor house. But when he had felt Potter leave his dorm, all of his Nightmare instincts started acting up at once.

All Draco had wanted to do was to sleep with Harry Potter, whether the wonder boy wanted to or not. Of course, he knew that Potter hadn't come downstairs to sleep with Draco, and then all Draco could think about was whom Potter did want to sleep with.

It was true that the mate of a Nightmare can sleep with other people without endangering the bond, but the bond between Draco and Potter was not fully formed yet. Potter had not yet accepted the bond, and before then, Draco considered Potter exclusively his to chase.

And chase Potter he would. Draco had never yet lost in a game of tag, and he didn't plan to.

Harry vaguely found Draco's silver eyes in front of him. They suddenly seemed only inches away—hadn't Draco moved away sometime? Draco's eyes reflected the flickering candlelight strangely, so that they glinted with strange orange and red hues.

"Nothing," Harry answered, trying to sound firm and courageous. He wasn't scared. He wasn't. Draco in a dark corridor was nothing like his voice in a dark room. Nothing. Harry had a nightmare and now Draco was in front of him and that was it.

But then Draco leaned ominously closer, so that his silver and red and orange flickering eyes loomed in front of Harry. Harry didn't know what hell looked like—he didn't even know if he believed in it—but he thought it must look like Draco's eyes at that moment. Harry couldn't help the step he took backwards, taking him up against the closed door to the kitchen.

"So you came all the way down here for nothing?" Draco's soft tenor whispered the question. Somehow, the step that Harry had taken didn't seem to matter. Somehow, Draco had followed. Harry's belated brain thought that Draco must have floated, for he certainly didn't do something as clumsy taking a step.

"Fine," Harry gave in. He really wasn't up to this. If he knew all the trouble getting a glass of milk would have gotten him in, he wouldn't have come down at all. "I wanted a glass of milk."

Harry was sure that if it were any other circumstance, his Gryffindor stubbornness would have made him continue to refuse to answer Draco's questions. However, Harry considered this one of those unusual circumstances. Harry—if he was truly honest to himself, and he tried to be—had to admit a tickle of fear climbing up his spine. It was only because of the nightmare, though, not because Draco was much stronger than Harry expected. Or that Draco seemed rather demonic. Or that Harry didn't know what he was supposed to be doing.

"You have a lot of work cut out in front of you trying to convince me that you left in the middle of the night after curfew just to get a glass of milk," Draco said evenly.

"Of course middle of the night is after curfew," Harry shot back.

"That is beside the point," Draco gritted through his teeth. "I'm asking you why you decided to break curfew. And don't give me the paltry excuse of wanting a glass of milk."

"I did—and still do—want a glass of milk," Harry replied stubbornly. Just because he was scared didn't mean that he couldn't be brave, too.

"Fine, let's say you want a glass of milk," Draco allowed magnanimously. "Why did you want a glass of milk?"

"Oh, so I can't have a glass of milk now?"

Draco glared at Potter. All his life, he had been the prince. He was the heir to the Malfoy line. He was the prince of the Slytherins. He was even Prince of Nightmares, even if he hadn't actually ascended to throne yet. With power or family or money, Draco had always been able to get his way... except with Potter.

"Yes, you can have a glass of milk, but I'm asking you why you want one now."

"I do because I do." Harry glared at Draco. "Now are you going to let me pass or not?"

Draco glared right back at Potter. At this point, Draco was sure that there was no threat to his impending bond with Potter, but it had become an issue of pride. Draco would ask a question, and Draco would get an answer. "Only if you tell me why you want milk."

Really, Harry wouldn't have thought that head-on stubbornness would be a trait of the most Slytherin of Slytherins, but he supposed that he learned something new each day. Besides, it was going from late night to early morning, and Harry did intend to sleep that night.

"Fine," Harry grounded. "I had a nightmare, alright? Are you happy now? Harry Potter had a nightmare and it scared him so much that he couldn't even sleep without going to get some milk."

Surprisingly, though, Draco didn't take the chance to say anything disparaging. Harry looked behind him reflexively as he felt the door behind him give way. Harry hadn't really counted on Draco keeping his word, since, well... Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were Slytherins.

Harry looked back into Draco's silver eyes for signs of deception, but couldn't find any. There was a quiet moment in Harry's mind. It wasn't quite a revelation, though...

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Malfoy shot back.

But Harry couldn't quite leave it at that. If anybody had a reason behind his every action, it would be Malfoy, and Harry was going to find out why Draco had let Harry pass without even insulting him.

"Why?" Harry repeated doggedly, staring at Draco, trying to read his face.

Of course, Draco kept his face impassive. It was one of the first things he had learned as a Malfoy. For some time, Harry had been scared of Draco. Draco had felt it through the bond. Instead of feeling accomplished and satisfied, as he always thought he would, though, Draco had felt a strange sense of loss.

For all of the five and a half years that Draco had known Harry, Harry had been there as Draco's equal. They fought duels. They chased the same snitch. They traded insults. And neither had ever cowed in front of the other. Now that Harry did, there had been something... wrong about it.

Draco wished he could make Harry just go get his milk like he had made Harry tell the truth. He didn't want to admit, even to himself, that he wanted Harry to be arguing with him instead of giving in. He had pushed Harry in hopes of getting Harry to fight back, but Harry had only given in, until Draco felt a strange need to convince Harry that he needn't be scared.

Unfortunately for Draco, the spirit bond was no substitute for the mythical telepathy that even Nightmares didn't possess. Draco could only make Harry tell the truth because the noble Gryffindor already had a penchant for truth telling. He couldn't turn Harry from his persistent questioning.

Although, there was one other thing that Draco could try.

Harry found that somehow, instead of just looking at Draco's eyes, he was looking into Draco's eyes. The silver pools seemed to swirl, and although Harry tried to figure out what was going on, his mind seemed a little sluggish.

Draco leaned toward Harry so that Harry could smell the mint and chocolate on Draco's breath. Without giving away too much, Draco whispered fiercely, "You are my mate. And I am the only Nightmare you will ever have from now on."

When Draco reflected on it—which he refused to do at the moment—he would realize exactly how Gryffindor his vow sounded.

Harry wasn't doing it on purpose, but his vigilant practice of occlumency had paid off, and he could tell whenever somebody wasn't quite telling the truth. This time, Draco was telling the truth.

Harry really oughtn't to feel safe with Malfoy, but somehow he did. Maybe it was Draco's unusual sincerity. Maybe it was that Harry knew Malfoy could actually do something about his nightmares. Maybe it was simply the soft silver pools he seemed to be swimming in.

Draco hid a satisfied smirk as his plan started succeeding.

Slowly, so that he wouldn't startle Harry and also so that he could pull Harry under his spell even more, Draco leaned in to plant a soft kiss on Harry's lips.

Harry closed his eyes as Draco's lips met his, but that layer of swirling silver didn't leave his mind. Much to his disappointment, Draco's lips left him just as quickly. But then, Harry felt feathered kisses sprinkling down the side of his neck.

Somehow, Draco's hands skimmed over Harry's bare skin under his shirt. He felt—through the layers of restrictive clothing—Draco's firm body lean against his, a comforting pressure trapping him against the kitchen door. When had the kitchen door closed again?

Harry wasn't quite sure what was going on, but whatever it was, it made him better than he had felt since... forever.

When Draco turned Harry around, Harry didn't protest. Harry just wanted to stay in the warm cocoon that was in. For a moment, he was almost shocked out of his pleasant mood by the cold air that suddenly blew past his back and behind.

Then, Draco's warmth covered his back again. Draco's hands played on Harry's—bare?—chest. Draco's mouth was doing something—not quite kissing, Harry was sure something so wonderful wouldn't be called something as trite as kissing—to Harry's neck, and Harry couldn't help but lean back into Draco.

Harry bit his lip so that he could control his breathing. Somewhere in the recess of his brains, he thought that Draco wouldn't like any displays of loss of control, but Harry did let the ball of his feet push into the stone floor.

Suddenly, Harry heard, "Potter, did I not tell you to go back to your dorm, what are you doing here?" Snape's slimy voice was like a splash of cold water, and lifted Harry out of the trance that Draco had put him in.

"P-Professor Snape," Harry stuttered, looking down. Unfortunately, his suspicions were confirmed. He was rather bare. Hastily, he pulled the cape from the floor and pulled it on around him.

Draco stood just to the side, as meticulously dressed as ever. Harry leveled him with a glare just for good measure.

Snape seemed to just realize Harry's state of undress, too. His brown eyes scanned the rest of the dark corridor, and landed on the pale blond. Snape didn't know how he could have missed Draco before... but he decided it must be one of those Nightmare things.

"Malfoy, too," Snape added, just because he could. He didn't like it when people surprised him. And while Draco Malfoy might be the Prince of Nightmares, he was still a student of Hogwarts, under Snape's house, no less. "I want both of you back to your dorms. Now."

Harry left quickly. As he was leaving, he saw Professor Snape give Draco a significant glance. Harry didn't bother to find out what was happening, though. He counted himself lucky that Snape didn't take away any more points.

And he didn't even get his cup of milk.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So... loooooooong time no update. Here it is. I don't know if it's any good anymore. I haven't written any of the story for about six months (this is one of those chapters that I have written but have not posted). I don't know if I can go back to writing the story or if I should just give up... Either way, though, you probably won't see any more of the story until July. (You can decide if that's a good or bad thing.)  



	7. Gods, Souls, and Spirits

**Chapter Seven - Gods, Souls, and Spirits**

Hermione leaned over to Harry and interrupted class rather uncharacteristically. "You really shouldn't attempt the spell," she whispered.

Harry snuck a peak at Professor Snape, who thankfully didn't seem to hear Hermione's chitchat. Professor Snape was lecturing another use for the new DADA spell: _tandemus contigo_. On a piece of paper—because Professor Snape always seemed to catch him chitchatting—he wrote, _I think I have to... I don't think Snape would let me_ not _try the spell_.

Carefully, Harry pushed the piece of paper across the desk toward Hermione, who scanned the missive discreetly. 

Just as Harry was taking the paper back, though, Snape's voice spoke from behind him, "Potter, why don't you try the spell. With Longbottom."

Harry looked behind him, and just as he had expected, Snape was eyeing the piece of paper with a disgusted expression on his face. It was an expression reserved for Gryffindors, Harry suspected, because he couldn't imagine the Hufflepuffs or the Ravenclaws surviving DADA class if Snape turned this look on them.

Then, Harry looked at Longbottom apprehensively. Because of Snape's association with the Malfoys, Harry suspected very strongly that Snape knew exactly what was happening between Harry and exactly why he couldn't perform the spell.

Furthermore, _tandemus contigo_ was a spell that two wizards or witches did in tandem, to use each other's magic to protect themselves. This was because a wizard's own magic had a tendency to be pulled back within the wizard, and therefore any shell-like protection spell would hold for barely a second. With foreign magic that the body naturally rejected, though, the protection was much more effective. However, the spell was also very draining, and so two wizards had to exchange magic to not be depleted too quickly.

The likelihood of Neville performing such a complex spell correctly the first time under the pressure of Snape's direct scrutiny, though, was practically nil, even if Harry had somehow miraculously recovered enough magic.

Once both Harry and Neville stood at the front of the room, the class fell silent. Harry heard a snort of disbelief and looked over at Draco, who sat as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if he didn't care—and Harry knew he did—and as if last night didn't happen...

Harry felt his own face heating up at the thought and decided that he might as well try the spell and fail. If he died, at least he'd take Draco's sniggering face with him.

With one final speaking glance at each other, Harry and Neville decided to perform the spell. 

"One," Snape started counting without preamble. "Two. Three."

"_Tandemus contigo_," Neville and Harry shouted at the same time. Faint green light shot out of their wands and enveloped the boys.

Harry felt surprise and satisfaction that he proved Snape wrong, but then the lights went out almost immediately with a thud. Neville had fainted. 

The Gryffindor half of the classroom ran toward Neville and tried to _ennervate_ him as the Slytherin side watched. But the Gryffindors parted for Snape as he stalked his way toward Neville. 

Snape kneeled down in front next to Longbottom, his black robes pooling around him.

After a short while, he pronounced, "Longbottom is fine, but Madame Pomfrey would want to see him anyways. Since you three never seem to learn anything anyways—" This, of course, was directed at Harry, Ron and Hermione. "—why don't you carry your housemate to the infirmary. Noble Gryffindors and all."

* * *

"Professor Snape is a genius," Hermione declared unexpectedly.

Harry and Ron both looked up from their transfiguration essays due tomorrow to stare at Hermione's announcement. Of course, Hermione had already finished the essay, but she was seated comfortably in one of the big armchairs and reading a book, as usual. The only other person in the room was Ginny, but she seemed absorbed in her thoughts as she stared into the fireplace. 

Noticing Ron and Harry's disbelieving faces, Hermione elaborated, "The _tandemus contigo_ spell. Of course, Neville fainted, but—"

At this, Ginny looked up. "Neville fainted?"

Hermione nodded. Ron offered, "You know the way Snape is with Neville. At least Snape doesn't teach Potions anymore."

Harry grumbled, "I don't think DADA is an improvement."

"Neville's in the infirmary?" Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded again. He's been there all afternoon.

At this, Ginny stood up quite suddenly. "I've been wondering where he was." Then, without saying another world, she rushed out of the Gryffindor common room, startling both Harry and Ron.

"It's quite close to curfew," Harry observed.

Ron only stared at the closed entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "Ginny... Neville? Harry, you don't think... That Ginny and Neville..." Seeming too horrified at the thought, Ron couldn't even finish his sentence. 

Harry knew what Ron meant, though. "I wouldn't know..." 

"But what happened to that guy? Za... something. I think his first name was Mitchell or Michael or something." Ron asked. 

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That was ages ago. If you don't notice these things, it'll be too late by the time somebody actually tells you."

"But I noticed this time," Ron defended himself.

"Anyway," Hermione continued. "Snape managed to replenish Harry's magical energy. It's not good that Neville fainted, of course, but Harry needs his magical energy more. Besides, Harry didn't drain Neville dry, so he'll probably be fine."

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry interrupted. "What do you mean?" 

_"Tandemus contigo_ is a spell based on raw power," Hermione explained. "And because you had a lot of need for magical energy, your body simply absorbed it."

"But it's foreign magical energy," Harry pointed out. "Snape—who, according to you, is a genius—said that the body repels foreign magical energy. "

"Well..." Hermione trailed off as she started thinking again.

"Well?" Ron echoed impatiently.

"Well, I think it's like this." Hermione looked at both boys to make sure they were both paying attention. "Harry, your mother died to protect you. I think she somehow gave all of her magical energy to you when she died. So your body is used to foreign magic and it has a storage well for foreign magic before it converts it to your own magic."

"So I took Neville's magic?" At least now, Harry knew for a fact that it was he who had put Neville in the infirmary. "But I don't see how my mother gave her magical energy to me." 

Hermione was silent for a moment as she thought of a way to explain what she thought had happened. "You know the Malfoys?" 

"The Nightmares?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. "And you know how they are both pretty cold and mean and basically don't care about the world? "

"It's because they have no hearts," Ron said derisively.

"No, it's not," Hermione said. "It's because they have no souls."

Harry's green eyes widened at this. "What do you mean?"

"Well, technically, they do have souls," Hermione corrected herself. "The thing is, the human brain is split into two hemispheres with different functions—hemispheric lateralization. The basics of it are that the left part contains the logical and rational part. It also contains what we call the spirit. The right part of the brain contains the instincts and the morals. It's where your conscience is. It's also where the soul is."

In her enthusiasm, Hermione put down the book she was reading, _Nightmares and Nightmares_, and leaned forward in her seat. "In human brains, these two parts are connected. The soul part can love and hate and have faith. It's these 'soul-deep' feelings that make magic. Then, it sends the magic to the spirit, which makes up reasons for it. The spirit also makes it known to the conscious mind, so that something can be done about the emotion.

"In muggles, the soul and the spirit are so closely tied together that any magic sent to the spirit gets sent back almost immediately to the soul. They don't have a magic reservoir. In wizards and witches, though, the connection from the spirit to the soul is weaker. And when you get a 'soul-deep' feeling, the magic gets sent to the spirit, but if the feeling is too strong, the spirit can't send all of it back soon enough, and something magical happens, as the spirit tries to funnel off the extra magic. 

"Part of Hogwarts training is so that we can contain more magical energy within ourselves, because otherwise, the magical energy will be depleted too quickly, and the soul will have nothing left to feel with. Like Riddle, who was rumored to use a lot of magic even before he started getting trained for it. It made him unable to love. Even trained wizards and witches, though, have a hard time feeling love and hate as deeply as muggles because of this. This is why there are so many arranged marriages and marriages for convenience in the wizarding community."

"That's not true," Ron protested. "My parents are happily in love." 

Hermione waved airily. "It's the exception that proves the rule. Besides, they love all things muggle, and I think that has done something to strengthen this connection. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that Lily Potter poured all of her magic into Harry when she died for him, because she loved him. Love is a soul deep feeling and so all of the magical energy in her soul probably transferred directly into Harry and deflected the killing curse."

Harry thought that what Hermione said made sense. At least, it had passed through Hermione's eminently logical mind already. Still, one question remained, "What does this have to do with the Malfoys?" 

"The Malfoys are Nightmares, which are described in detail in this exceptional book." Hermione picked up _Nightmares and Nightmares_ to show Harry and Ron. To them, it didn't look exceptional at all, just exceptionally old. "They have a myth for why they don't have souls, but the scientific explanation is that the connections from their spirits to their souls are basically nonexistent. After several years of depleting the soul of magical energy, the soul basically shrivels. And you get—"

"The Malfoys," Ron finished for Hermione.

"Exactly," Hermione said. "Which is also why they need a mate to provide them with magical energy. What they do get, though, is a highly developed spirit that can basically make their magic do whatever they want it to."

Harry thought aloud, "I thought books on Nightmares were banned."

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted reluctantly. "But Nightmares are allowed to have them."

Ron's eyes widened. "You mean you borrowed it from Malfoy?"

"Sort of," Hermione hedged, making Ron even more suspicious. Hermione almost never hedged. "Blaise borrowed it from Malfoy for me."

"Blaise? Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes," Hermione answered clearly and defensively. "He was very polite about it all." 

"And you just accepted a gift from a Slytherin?" Ron pursued.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at Ron's tone of voice. "It's just a book, and he lent it to me. He didn't give it to me."

"It's just a book," Ron repeated incredulously, throwing his hands in the air. "Yeah, well, Ginny _just_ wrote in a diary her first year. And Quirrel _just_ wanted a stone our first year. Hermione, he could've hidden any number of hexes in there and it would be too late for you as soon as you looked at the book."

"Well, guess what? It's a risk I chose to take." Before Ron could berate her again—and really, did Ron really think he knew that much more about the magical world?—Hermione continued, "And besides, the book has been very enlightening. I have to remember to give Blaise a thank you gift with the book when I return it."

"But..." Ron said weakly. "Blaise Zabini...?"

Hermione didn't say anything. Instead, she smiled at Ron, the corners of her mouth stretching a little unnaturally, Harry thought.

"Um..." Harry said when neither Hermione nor Ron said anything. "So I don't really have to sleep with Draco anymore?"

After a pause, Hermione answered, "Apparently not."

"Draco?" Ron repeated. "Since when did he become Draco instead of Malfoy?"

Neither Hermione nor Harry answered Ron's bewildered question. Harry didn't really feel like answering and Hermione thought Harry might as well deal with his relationship now instead of later.

Seeing that neither of his best friends was going to answer, Ron covered his face with his hands despairingly. "God save me from Pansy Parkinson."

* * *

"Well, thanks for sending advanced warning," Snape said as he found Lucius in his suite moments after a frantic owl had tracked him down in the corridor. "Half-minute advanced warning is better than nothing, I suppose."

Lucius ignored Snape's sarcasm and nodded gracefully. Truly, Snape thought, if you took away Lucius's horrible personality, he would be God's piece of artwork. Draco, too. But as they were, they were quite troublesome to deal with.

"Well?" Snape prompted. He knew he sounded irritated, but he didn't care enough to hide it. He had had a full day of classes today, and double DADA with Potter. Even worse, he had had to help Potter without letting anybody know about it. "It'd better be important. The Dark Lord was throwing the Cruciatus curse left and right yesterday, and since you haven't healed me, I'm not completely healed yet." 

"It's my fault, of course," Lucius accepted. "I decided that neither Narcissa nor myself will associate with Voldemort any longer."

"Well, so glad you have a choice." Snape found a chair to sit in. Lucius had taken his favorite chair, again. "Next time, think about us mortals who don't." Snape found himself shifting in his chair. It was really very uncomfortable, which was why he usually made the students sit in it. "I can't believe Narcissa just went along with it." 

"Well," Lucius answered vaguely. "I have ways of persuading her."

Snape snorted. He had finally settled to sit in the chair backwards, so he could lean forward onto the back of the chair. It was not a very elegant way of sitting, but then Snape doubted anybody could compare with a Malfoy in the room. In fact, Snape had seen Lucius sitting in just such a way. Elegantly. 

"Wonderful," Snape said dryly. "I would much rather not know. And I certainly hope you didn't just come here to tell me that you were the cause of all the pain I went through." 

"Of course not." Lucius leaned back in Snape's favorite chair and steepled his fingers. Snape had to envy how beautiful Lucius looked, with his pale blond hair and beautiful silver eyes. From the tips of Lucius's long fingers to the folds of his black robe, Lucius defined the purpose of breeding.

Snape did not envy Narcissa, though. Or Potter, for that matter. Actually, Snape had never envied anybody much, except for Black. But Black was dead now, so that was that.

Lucius continued serenely, "We had a High Councilor meeting yesterday."

"I know. You have one every Sunday."

"And Typhulus brought up an interesting subject—"

"Typhulus?" Snape interrupted. "Damien Typhulus?"

Lucius nodded. "He is a Nightmare who spies on Nightmares. He's a betrayer."

Snape leaned his forehead against the back of the chair and groaned. "He's promised the Dark Lord an alliance with Nightmares. Voldemort will be angry when Typhulus doesn't deliver."

"Not necessarily," Lucius said. "Typhulus brought up the idea of an alliance just as the meeting was ending. He wanted to discuss it in depth at the next meeting." 

"What's the point?" Snape asked. "It's not as if the Nightmares are going to ally somebody trying to kill the mate of their prince, and therefore kill their prince. You've told me that Nightmares don't work like that."

"They don't," Lucius confirmed. "But by next Sunday, over thirty days would have passed since the ancient law was invoked. If Potter still hasn't accepted the bond by then, there is a big chance that he won't before the bond withers away."

"And if he won't," Snape finished for Lucius. "Draco will die anyways. If for nothing else, the Nightmares would want to kill Potter out of revenge. You included."

Lucius nodded. "Of course." 

"So, let me guess," Snape said, his tone betraying quite clearly his distaste for Lucius's upcoming request. "You want me to somehow persuade Potter to accept the bond."

Again, Lucius acted as if he only heard the words Snape said and not the tone of his voice. "That would be of great help. I would really rather not have to kill Potter." Lucius paused thoughtfully. "Voldemort is quite strong, you know, and Potter still managed to defeat him... numerous times. Disgracefully numerous times for a Dark Lord, actually."

When Lucius looked at Snape expectantly, Snape spat out, "Fine. I'll see what I can do, but I don't think Potter's very inclined to listen to me. I haven't been the nicest person to him."

Lucius nodded regally. "It will be fine, as long as you succeed."

"Isn't that just comforting." After a pause, Snape asked, "Don't tell me that you stopped being a Death-Eater because you decided that the Dark Lord was disgraceful."

"That was part of it," Lucius admitted. "The purpose of being a Death-Eater is the elevation of social status. And disgrace definitely has to do with that."

At this, Snape closed his eyes and sighed. He supposed he could see why he never went very high on the pureblood social ladder, even with his acquaintance with Lucius. Snape just didn't understand these things, and really, he would really rather not. If it hadn't been for trying to compete with the Marauders, he might never have aimed for social status at all.

Lucius still sat in Snape's favorite chair when Snape looked up. "Well?" Snape grumbled. "Don't I at least get healed for all this trouble you're putting me through? Spying on Voldemort, keeping an eye on Dumbledore, looking out for Potter... Especially looking out for Potter."

Lucius smiled but didn't move from his chair. "What's the magic word?"

Snape glared at Lucius. "Fuck you."

"That was two words," Lucius pointed out. "Besides, it's the action that makes the magic, not the words itself. But I'll be nice and heal you anyways." 

At this, Snape grumbled sarcastically, "Oh, thank you, Lucius."

* * *

On Tuesday, Hermione finished _Nightmares and Nightmares_. She was carrying it around with her when she saw Blaise in the hall.

"Hello, Blaise," she called to his back.

Blaise stopped and turned around. When he saw that it was Hermione who had called out to him, a smile lit up his face. "Hi, Hermione."

"I want to thank you again for letting me read _Nightmares and Nightmares_," Hermione said as she started digging around through her bag. "It's the most fascinating book I have ever read. But I have promised to give it back once I finished reading it. So, here it is." 

Blaise took back the book hesitantly, for once unsure of what he should say to a girl. Finally, he decided on, "My pleasure." 

Hermione smiled. "That's so gentlemanly of you." 

Inwardly, Blaise winced. He didn't want to be a gentleman. He wasn't a gentleman. He wanted to win Hermione over so that he could be the single most eligible bachelor in all of Hogwarts. And maybe Witch Weekly, too.

Then, Hermione added, "And I stuck a pass to the Restricted Section in there, as a thank you gift, you know. If you ever need it." As she thought about it, though, she blushed. Really, everybody wasn't a bookworm. Not even most.

"Thank you, I'm sure it will come in handy," Blaise replied, sounding sincere. Despite that he would very probably never go to the Restricted Section, he did appreciate the thought. There was something very refreshing about a gift without an agenda... or at least, a very innocent agenda, because the worst that Blaise could think of was that Hermione would want to borrow more books in the future.

A bell rang somewhere, and Hermione looked up with alarm. "I really have to go now. Otherwise, I'll be late to my class. I'll see you later."

Faced with Hermione's retreating back, Blaise was suddenly unsure what to do. "Hermione," he yelled to her back.

Hermione stopped and turned. "What is it?"

"Um..." Blaise fought not to blush. He actually didn't know what it was. He hadn't wanted the conversation to end. He had wanted to see her genuine smiling face again. But he wasn't going to tell Hermione that. Instead, he searched for something else to say. Dammit, he was a Slytherin!

Finally, Blaise settled with, "Which class are you going to?" 

"Double Magical Theory," Hermione answered easily. She didn't seem to have found his question inane, Blaise thought with relief. "I actually quite recommend the class, but I really have to hurry now."

"Okay," Blaise said, flashing her one of his famous Zabini smiles, hoping that it matched hers in brilliancy. "I'll see you around."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** As promised, here is the seventh chapter. Hopefully, it was up to standards. And if it wasn't... ah, well, nothing to be done about it. I'm kind of stuck in a rut as to how to continue this story, because I am seeing a story that's about thirty chapters long and I just don't know if I have the will-power to pull it off. In the summer, I'm working three part-time jobs. I start as a freshman in September. So...

Still, I don't want to give it up. I have lots of plans for it. Actually, I'm thinking of making it a duology so that I can cut down the long-term-ness of the project and to skip all the stuff in the middle which are not so important. Hmm... who knows. Maybe I'll just end it the eleventh chapter with a lot of angst... At least it'll be an ending. Right?

. 


	8. Presents and Presents

Haha, yes, I'm still alive... some of you might actually be surprised by this—those of you who are actually still reading this story. :) I wrote this chapter last year, actually, but when I had to take a break in writing this story and completely forgot that I still had three unposted chapters. We'll see if I can get them out... if I write any more of it. I'm more focused on writing a fiction story, though, that is to remain unposted (possibly forever). So... 

I do have a fondness for this story, though, so I'll hopefully finish it.

* * *

**Chapter Eight – Presents and Presents**

"Argm-rawam-raiken-darwarnasha," Ron grumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Well, then, it's good that you have double divination today, and every Wednesday following," Hermione replied. Years of listening to Ron talk while eating—and trying to stop him from doing it with no result—had given Hermione the unique skill of understanding what Ron said even when he was eating.

"As for me," Hermione continued smugly. "I have Arithmancy and Magical Theory on Wednesday mornings, which happen to be my favorite subjects."

"Ugh." Ron made a face of disgust. This time, even Harry could understand what Ron meant, despite the food in his mouth, and Harry agreed wholeheartedly that not only could he not see the point of Arithmancy, Professor Vector had no personality to speak of.

"Well," Hermione said as she waved her fork in the air. "You boys would not understand the beauty that is Arithmancy. But you really should know something about Magical Theory."

"I do," Harry said. "Know something."

At this, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, the rudimentary stuff. And what I told you two nights ago. But it's actually quite fascinating. In fact, I do wish Malfoy would take it, since Professor Ansly discusses why mix-bloods or muggleborns are generally healthier and more powerful than purebloods." As an afterthought, Hermione added, "Of course, she also teaches Muggle Studies."

Ron swallowed his food, but he hadn't chewed it quite thoroughly enough, and his throat hurt. "That's probably why Malfoy doesn't take Magical Theory."

"Well, technically, Draco isn't a pureblood either," Harry pointed out. At his friends' incredulous looks, he added, "He's half-wizard, half-Nightmare."

A big smile stretched across Ron's face. "You're right! Blimey, Malfoy is a half-blood. The prince of Slytherins is a half-blood!"

"Actually," Hermione injected, her tone deflating Ron's happy bubble. "Purebloods consider any lineage with magic to be pureblood. Basically, all magical creatures are better than muggleborns."

"But... But..." Harry tried to find a fault in Hermione's logic.

"In any case," Hermione continued blithely. "Nightmares can only mate with wizards and witches, so if you counted it that way, Malfoy is less than one percent of a percent Nightmare. Obviously, though, he carries all the Nightmare traits, one hundred percent of them."

"Yeah," Ron agreed enthusiastically. "Especially the one where they don't have souls."

"He does. It's just under-developed. And you really shouldn't hold that against him," Hermione admonished. "He was born that way."

Ron's brown eyes widened. "Are you campaigning for Malfoy?"

Instead of answering Ron, Hermione began cutting her eggs stoically.

"Hermione!" Ron didn't get a chance to say anything else, though, as owls started sweeping into the Great Hall. With a thud, a letter and a box landed on the Gryffindor table.

Hermione picked up the box in front of her. It had been tied elaborately with gold ribbons. There was a little rose artfully placed within the ribbons. It, too, was gilded in gold. Finally, there was a card on top. 'Hermione,' it read simply.

Ron leaned over to look at Hermione's present. "Who is it from?" He asked suspiciously.

"I have no idea." Hermione shrugged a little as she pulled the card out from the envelop. "'Hermione,'" she read aloud, but read no more. Instead, she skimmed the rest of it.

"Well?" Ron prompted when she didn't say anymore.

Hermione finished her reading and sent Ron a glare. "It's private."

"What do you mean it's private?" Ron practically shouted. When Hermione didn't reply, Ron reached over and grabbed the letter from Hermione's unsuspecting hands.

"Give it back!" Hermione yelled.

"No," Ron answered firmly. Hermione jumped to try to get her letter back, but Ron was much taller than she was when he stood up. He held the paper high above him and ignored Hermione's attempts.

"'Hermione,'" Ron read. "'I thought of you last night as I put the book back onto the book shelf.' What book? 'Truly, you are the most wonderful person I have ever had the privilege to meet. So, I have sent you a rose and a box of chocolate—I hope you don't think I'm being too forward—' Who the hell is this? '—to thank you for our wonderful meetings. Honestly, though, you are sweeter than chocolate and more beautiful than roses, and I doubt anything in the world can compare to you. Sincerely, Blaise Zabini.'" Ron made a face of disgust. "Blaise Zabini?"

Hermione opted to remain silent. She wished she could control her blushing though.

"Honestly," Ron continued. "Who writes this kind of mushy drivel? Can he be any more fake?"

"Well," Parvati spoke up from across the table. "I thought it was rather romantic. And these are Godiva chocolates, too."

"Romantic?" Ron continued, scandalized. "There is clearly a plot here. A very nefarious plot. There is no way that Zabini would actually fall for Hermione."

"_Accio letter_," Hermione said, finally having gotten out her wand. She glared murderously at Ron. "I'm glad that you finally used 'nefarious' correctly," Hermione spat. "And just what do you mean that 'there is no way' he would like me. Are you implying something?"

"Hell yes!" Ron said. "Zabini is a Slytherin. He wouldn't tell you that you are beautiful and wonderful and sweet unless he had a reason to."

Ever the romantic, Parvati added hopefully, "Maybe he was just being honest."

"Well, then," Ron huffed. "He wouldn't have said those things."

At this, Hermione slapped Ron, the sound ringing out loudly through out the Great Hall. When the whole of the Great Hall quieted to listen to the dissension between the Gryffindor trio, though, Hermione turned calmly to Harry, as if nothing had happened. "Why don't you open your letter?" Hermione suggested.

Harry gulped. He didn't know whom the letter was from, but he really hoped that it would not share the same fate as Hermione's letter.

Unfortunately for him, Harry saw as he turned the letter over, that it was a howler. He groaned silently, but decided that since everybody was likely to hear the howler anyways, there was no point in waiting. Carefully, he opened his letter.

"Harry," the letter said evenly but loudly. The voice sounded familiar to Harry, a smooth tenor that intoned his name just so. "You're mine forever just as I am yours. Mine to love and mine to protect. I won't share you with anyone else."

With that, the letter burst into flames. Harry looked around hesitantly to see that most of the girls had a strange glazed look about them.

Finally, Parvati spoke up, "Who knew Malfoy was so romantic?"

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated in a strangled voice. But of course, who else would claim him like that, without a thought to his own embarrassment. And if Harry thought about it, Malfoy's voice would sound like this if he actually spoke something civil. This was so much worse than even the Valentine's card he had received in second year.

"Well," Lavender said. "That makes it quite clear that you are involved. If you ever want a third person, though, don't hesitate to ask me."

"Third person?" Harry asked, confused.

Lavender smiled, in what she hoped was a sexy way. It had looked good when she had practiced it in front of a mirror. "Just for fun, you know?"

"Um..." Harry stalled. He wasn't quite sure what Lavender meant. "I'll ask Draco."

"Okay." Lavender agreed but didn't let Harry off the hook. Her smile turned mischievous. "If he says no, we can always just keep him tied up or something."

"Lavender!" Hermione admonished. "_I_'m still trying to eat breakfast."

"Well," Lavender grumbled. "_You _have your Blaise Zabini."

Ron cut in hastily, not much inclined to hear more about Blaise Zabini. "I'm trying to eat, too."

At this, Lavender wasn't quite sure what to say. As Lavender fell silent, Hermione shot Lavender a smug smirk. Lavender narrowed her eyes back at Hermione.

"Well," Ron said finally. "I'm still single."

At this, Ginny looked up from where she sat beside Neville. "Well, I'm sure that if you were that desperate, Pansy Parkinson is still available."

"Ugh." Ron's face wrinkled in disgust. "I think I'd rather stay single, thank you very much."

Ginny tried to hide her laughter, but Ron heard it anyways. Ron groaned. Little sisters shouldn't be laughing at their big brothers because their big brothers were single. But of course, little sisters weren't supposed to have boyfriends either, and God knew that Ginny had had plenty of those.

* * *

Across the Great Hall, Draco and Blaise sat beside each other, eating breakfast with their fellow Slytherins. 

Blaise shot Draco a glare. "You just had to one up on me, didn't you?"

"Of course," Draco drawled. "You might be a Slytherin, but I'm the Prince of Slytherins."

Blaise snorted at this. "That is such a self-made title."

"Besides," Draco continued as if Blaise didn't say anything. "It's the perfect opportunity to let everybody know that Harry is taken."

"As if the Gryffindor Gazette didn't do that already." Blaise paused, and then his tone became serious. "You didn't see the way Brown was eyeing your mate, did you?"

"Of course I did," Draco replied. "But I can take care of her easily enough. She'd be even easier than Fitch-Fletchley. Not only does she have no lineage to speak of, she doesn't have money either. Being a whore really suits her, actually."

"Too bad she can't hear your flattering observations."

"Too bad," Draco repeated airily. "Of course, I can always send her a couple of nightmares."

At this, Blaise Zabini pretended to shudder. "Oh, save me," he mocked. "For I cannot sleep without nightmares or even close my eyes without remembering them."

Draco glanced sideways at Blaise, who only smiled back innocently. "Do you really want me to show you what I mean?"

"No, it's okay. I believe you," Blaise replied hastily. "I still remember quite well that nightmare you decided to give me when I was five, about giant bananas jumping out of trees to attack me. And then when I was eight, you sent a really morbid one just after you read _Seventeen Trickiest Hexes to Un-hex_, and decided that since you were forbidden to try them in real life, you'd try them on me in a nightmare. And then when I was eleven..." He paused, noticing Draco's amused expression. "Do I really need to tell you all this?"

"Of course not," Draco said. "But it makes me happy to know that you still remember all those nightmares."

"Bastard," Blaise said.

"Not really, since my parents were bonded." Draco looked evenly at Blaise. "That's more than I can say for your parents, though."

"Well, my mother managed to convince my father by the time I was born."

"Yes," Draco said. "Your mother has always been very good at... convincing people."

"Not my fault she was a dark temptress," Blaise rejoined. "Or that she passed that trait down to me."

Draco took one look at Blaise's satisfied expression. "You're forgetting that she's also very good at Dark Arts, which she didn't pass down to you."

"Well, I'm a late bloomer."

"Of course," Draco allowed regally.

Blaise looked at Draco suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm simply agreeing with you." Draco decided to pour himself a cup of coffee. "You said that you are a late bloomer, not me."

As usual, Blaise ended up with nothing to say, because he had said that he was a late-bloomer. One of these days, though, Blaise vowed, he was going to win Draco in an argument. Today, he satisfied himself by saying, "I hate you."

Draco smiled beatifically, completely unperturbed. "No, you don't. You're just jealous that you're not me."

* * *

"What do you want this time?" Snape asked Lucius irritably, upon finding Lucius in his suite. Again. "I just saw you two nights ago. You didn't even have a High Councilor meeting to rant about." 

"Of course not, High Councilor meetings are every Sunday," Lucius agreed.

Snape sighed, and decided that he might as well give up now. He slumped down in the chair he usually reserved for students. Except, apparently, when Lucius called on him. Really, didn't a hard working teacher deserve some rest? Or maybe a spy? A guardian? Surely, one of those occupations...

"If I didn't know any better," Snape grumbled. "I'd say we were having an affair."

At this, Lucius smirked. "Unfortunately for me, I remain monogamous. And unfortunately for you, I'm not Remus Lupin."

Snape shot up in his seat. He knew he should remain stoic, but he felt his face blanching anyways. No matter how much Snape trusted Lucius with his life, they were both Slytherins, and so Snape wouldn't trust Lucius with his secret.

"Wh-What are you talking about?" Snape pretended not to know.

At this, Lucius's gray eyes sparkled with amusement. "You think you can hide that from me even though I have to heal all of your wounds? It's quite cute, actually."

"It's been a long time," Snape remarked wistfully and sighed. "Almost twenty years. You'd think I'd forget by now."

Lucius laughed. "You don't really expect to fool me with that, do you? You still think of him every time you go to sleep."

"Fine!" If Lucius didn't know any better, he would have said that Severus was sulking. "You know my deep, dark secret. What do you want in exchange?"

"Your 'deep, dark secret'?" Lucius repeated, raising one pale eyebrow. "I'm sure that is not even close to it, although I do know that it has something to do with that werewolf. In any case, I came because I forgot to ask you something last time. Theodore Nott is in your house, isn't he?"

"Nott?" Snape frowned, not understanding why Lucius would ask for Nott. "Of course. Not only is he pureblood, he's from a Death-Eater family. Why?"

"Well," Lucius drawled. "Can you possibly arrange a meeting between him and me?"

Snape looked at Lucius's face carefully. As usual, though, Lucius's face remained a cold mask devoid of emotion. "What do you want?"

"Oh," Lucius answered easily. "I just want to give him a little present."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What kind of present."

Lucius grinned, but his face somehow remained emotionless. Vaguely, Snape thought he saw Lucius's teeth glisten, but it must have been a trick of the candlelight. Lucius answered, "It's a surprise."

"Don't harm him, okay?" Snape asked. "I'm still head of his house."

"Oh, of course," Lucius answered easily. "I'll give him back just the way I found him. Like I said, I just want to give him a little gift."

Snape sighed. "Fine, when do you want the meeting?"

"Whenever is convenient for you." Lucius spread his hands in a generous gesture. "Within the next seventy-two hours."

"I'll contact you by fire call, then," Snape bit out.

Lucius stood up from Snape's favorite chair. "Very much obliged," Lucius said, and Snape snorted. Then, Lucius disappeared from Snape's suite, leaving Snape all alone again.

Ah, Snape thought, peace and quiet.

* * *

**Author's note: **If you liked it, review. :) It doesn't mean the next chapter will come out sooner than it will come out, though... 


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